


The Cabin

by IWantYouInMyLife



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Codependency, Eventual Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Polyamory, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Slow Burn, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:15:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 39,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29835174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWantYouInMyLife/pseuds/IWantYouInMyLife
Summary: The plan had been to grab Peter and get the hell out of that ghost-infected Compound. When the time came to leave, though, Tony made a different decision.
Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Cabin

**Author's Note:**

> So, hi? Quick explanation: Covid-19 happened, and thus, I have nothing but time in my hands to contemplate life and its meaning. How did I decide to deal with it, you ask? Well, dear reader, by writing copious amounts of self-indulgent fics, of course. 
> 
> So, yeah, I chose to write this story, even though I have many other WIPs I should be working on. Such is life, however. My muse is ever so fickle, and I’m still trying to figure out the whole ‘writing by determination alone’ thing. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this. I know it’s not a conventional pairing — in fact, it’s pretty much a non-existent ship, I found out. With that being said, I understand that this story won’t be for everyone, but I do hope people give it a try before dismissing it entirely. I did try my best to keep things as realistic as possible, so, yeah…
> 
> Now, without further ado, let’s get to it. 
> 
> Edit: I decided to post this as a one-shot, and ended up deleting the other version of this story which had multiple chapters. I apologize to anyone who might have been reading that version, but I just felt that it did not do this fic justice. Anyway, I hope you give this one another chance. Xoxo.

Tony should've gone back to his cabin.

No waiting around, no cleanups, no reunions, no meetings. No welcomes, and no hugs. Nothing. Tony should've packed up his shit and gone back to his little cabin — in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Alone.

As he belonged.

That's what he should've done.

It's not what he did, however.

Not even fucking close.

.

It all started after the battle. It all started the second Peter materialized back into existence. It actually started when their eyes met and whatever was left of Tony's heart began to beat once more — after five fucking years.

It all started because Tony couldn't have Peter out of his eyesight. At all — not for one single damn minute. Not to eat, not to take a shower, not to give the boy a private moment to deal with his freaky rebirth.

'Cause, fuck that. Tony had made that mistake once, and he wasn't about to be lulled into a false sense of security just because Thanos was no longer around. This was the Endgame, yes, but all the pieces had yet to fall into place, and Tony would not take any chances this time around.

So, yeah, if Peter Parker moved, Tony fucking moved. Just like that — easy. As though they were connected by a vibranium cord which was only about a foot or two long.

Tony didn't care about how it looked to the rest of the team or what anyone else might think of his sudden clinginess. The kid had died in his fucking arms — people could pry him away from him again over his cold, dead body.

In the end, though, his resistance was futile because no one said a word.

In fact, in a weird, but maybe not unpredictable twist of fate, everyone seemed to be doing the same — attaching themselves at the hip to those they had lost, living in fear that a mere blink of eyes would reveal that their return had been a collective sick dream.

The team — and all the extras that now were almost part of it — returned to the Compound as if it had been a spoken order, eager to regroup, to hear about what happened, to breathe in familiar air, to see the others, to step on known grounds.

What nobody seemed eager to do was go back to their own space.

(With the exception of Clint, of course, who pretty much went home the second the fight was over. Not a single soul dared to suggest calling him in to help with the aftermath.)

Instead, they all mourned for those who weren't there, who hadn't come back, who had given their lives in the fight. Gamora. Vision. Natasha.

Fuck.

Vision.

Natasha.

Tony didn't think about it. About them. He didn't. Of course not. He was Tony Stark and he had other things to do — important, essential things to do. He left the mourning to those who had earned the right to sit and break down.

Tony Stark was far too busy to mourn, to grieve. Far too busy. Just… too busy.

Yeah, busy.

Right.

.

The plan had been to grab Peter and get the hell out of that ghost-infected Compound. When the time to leave came, though, Tony made a decision. A different decision.

It made sense, Tony told himself.

He couldn't leave her behind — not after everything.

Tony owed Vision.

Owed her brother, and her parents, and J.A.R.V.I.S., and Vision, and a never-ending list of people to protect her, to keep one eye on her, to make sure she recovered, not to leave her alone in that Compound after the fight was over.

It didn't mean he knew of a gentle way to explain that to her, so Tony gave up on the pretences, strolled inside her room, and stared at her surprised face.

"Pack up," he said, gesturing to the stuff around them. Her belongings. "We're leaving tomorrow."

Her eyes widened, and some emotion flashed across her face, too fast to identify. "Leaving?" Wanda asked, as if it was possible for her to have misheard him.

"Yep. Ditching this hole, going away, leaving, taking the road—"

"I do not understand," she said, pushing herself up with her arms until she was seated on her bed, leaning against the headboard. "Where are we going? And who is we? Is there a problem?"

"No problem," Tony hurried to clarify before the panic could settle in. Nobody had the spirit for problems these days. "We — as in me, you, Spider-Kid. I'm taking us back to the cabin. This place is great and all — kudos to whoever created it — but we've been here long enough, and it's time for a break, hun?"

"Me?" Wanda mumbled, pushing some strands of hair off her face. She sounded confused and maybe a touch defensive. "What cabin? The others, where will they stay? What about the sto—"

Tony waved the questions away, shifting his body weight from one foot to the other. Christ, did she have to ask so many questions? And what was up with her eyes, anyway? Had she always looked so lost before?

"It's all been resolved," he said. "Cap will take the stones back. Brucie and the dynamic duo will stay with him to help. His royal highness and his entourage will return to Wakanda. Thor will leave with the space pirates and the rabbit — don't ask me why."

She cocked her head. "And you do not wish to stay here?"

"Me? Hell no, Granger. I don't wish to stay here any more than I wanted to be here in the first place," Tony affirmed, ignoring the way his voice almost cracked at the words. He's not lying; he did want to leave, to go back. Everything about the Avengers made him sick now.

Wanda wasn't in the mood to make things easy for him, though, and Tony could already see a thousand questions starting to form on her lips, and the last thing he wanted was to get trapped in that room, having to justify his actions with those green eyes staring him down. So he opted out.

"Now, now," he started, holding a hand up to silence her. "I see you have many questions. Well, save them. I have to… you know — things to do, places to be, papers to sign." He pushed his glasses higher up on his nose. "So, pack up. Like I said — leaving tomorrow."

Wanda looked alarmed now, moving to leave her bed. "Wait! Stark! There are plans to—"

"It's all taken care of — don't worry your pretty head with it," Tony waved away, feeling the panic starting to rise in his chest. She was still healing, still getting better. He fixed her with what he hoped was a stern look. "Get back on that bed before you hurt yourself." He opened the door. "Good talk. We leave in the morning."

And before she could utter another horrible question, or try to move around, or to, god forbid, ask him for help, Tony made a hasty getaway, shutting the door close behind him and taking a much needed deep breath.

Shit.

Tony squared his shoulders. One thing done — now for the other seventy-eight he still had to solve before leaving.

He could do it. He's Tony Stark.

Whatever that meant those days.

.

"Welcome to my humble abode, blah blah blah," Tony introduced, opening the front door. He was tired and eager to get to his room for some much-needed rest. "There are two empty rooms on the second floor, so you may rock, paper, scissors to see who gets which. F.R.I.D.A.Y. can help with anything else you need. Say hi, baby girl."

"Good afternoon," F.R.I.D.A.Y. greeted. "Mister Parker, Miss Maximoff — welcome to the Lake Cabin."

"Will Virginia be joining us?" Wanda asked. An innocent question.

"No," Tony answered dryly, swallowing the bitterness that rose from his throat. No, Pepper wouldn't be joining them.

She absolutely would not.

"What do you do for fun around here?" Peter asked excitedly. So excitedly, in fact, that it almost pained Tony to shoot him down so fast. Alas…

"This is a cabin, kid. A cabin in the middle of nowhere," Tony explained slowly. "Fun isn't exactly a priority."

Peter shot a concerned glance at Wanda, who was watching the entire interaction in silence. "What do you do, then?" He insisted.

"There's a workshop," Tony said quite lamely. "Uh… I guess there's a pool out in the back?"

For the first time, Wanda seemed interested. She perked up, sitting more straight on the couch. "Is it open?"

Tony shrugged. At least someone would use the damn thing now. "Sure."

The excitement clearly wasn't shared by the resident spider, who visibly cringed. "Ugh, water," he mumbled. "Not a great fan, to be honest."

"Me neither," Tony said, surprising himself with the words. "It came with the property. I've never stepped a foot inside." His eyes slid to Wanda. "At least one of us is happy about it. Although you'll have to check how it is — It's probably dirty by now."

The words didn't seem to discourage her. "That's fine," Wanda said, moving her hands to sweep up her hair into a bun at the top of her head, which seemed to come loose just as soon as she finished twisting it. She had already done that many times, Tony wondered why. "It will give me something to do; if nothing else."

"Sure. Great. Knock yourself out," Tony said. "Try not to drown or anything like that, though. I would rather not have to deal with the hassle."

"I will make an effort to keep myself from drowning, yes. If only for your peace of mind, Stark."

"Awesome." He stopped. "Wait. You do know how to swim, don't you? Because if you don't, it would be better—"

"I do know how to swim," Wanda interrupted, amused. "I would imagine a pool won't be too much of a challenge for me."

"You never know," Peter grumbled, stepping backwards until his knees hit the edge of the couch. He didn't even pretend to sit down properly, instead, in a blink of eyes, he was sprawled out across it, head mere inches from Wanda's thighs. "Bodies of water are tricker than they look. Gotta watch out for them."

It was weird. They both were behaving far too weirdly. Bubbly, happy. The sort of positive emotions that Tony wouldn't have expected from two people coming out of a bloody battle.

"Wait!" Peter suddenly asked, jumping up and nearly sending Tony to his early grave. "Where's May? Where's my aunt? What happened, I mean, where's she—"

"Geez, kid. Way to give me a fucking heart attack. For fuck's sake. Calm down. She's fine. Alive, of course. With her husband, I suppose." Tony tried to get his heart to calm down, focusing on his breathing. "Call Happy and talk to her."

"She got married?" Peter repeated, shock etched into every feature in his face. It's clear that he had expected anything except that. "To Happy?"

Tony nodded, trying to sound reassuring when he confirmed. "Sure did, buddy," he said, unsure whether he should step back or offer some kind of comforting touch. Delicate situations such as this had never been Tony's strong suit.

"When?" Peter was blinking too fast. Weirdly fast.

"Almost two years ago, I think. I'm not quite sure of the exact date but… yeah, somewhere around that."

"Did you go?" Peter asked out of nowhere.

Tony couldn't help the frown making its way to his face. "If I-I-No, Peter. I did not go." He paused, then added for good measure. "I did give Happy two months of vacation. And bought them a house. You know, a present and all."

Peter's eyes widened. "A house? You bought them a house as a wedding gift?"

"Sure, why not? They had to live somewhere and Happy said your aunt refused to live at the Tower or the Compound." Tony shrugged. He couldn't even remember which house they had picked — F.R.I.D.A.Y. handled the details.

"What about our-I mean, the apartment? Where I lived with May, I mean. Before… just, you know, before."

There was no sugarcoating it. "She didn't stay there," Tony gently explained. He looked Peter dead in the eyes and prayed this wouldn't go south on him. "After the snap, she gave back the apartment and moved to a smaller place closer to Manhattan."

"But… but she hates it there. The main island- Manhattan...she loved living in Queens. Why would she-how could—"

Peter stumbled over the words, doing his best to make sense of the mess in his head, no doubts, and Tony refused to interrupt. It was better that he got his thoughts straight before he spoke with his aunt and said things that couldn't be taken back afterwards. Tony was painfully aware of how some things were impossible to be taken back, to be forgiven and forgotten.

So he allowed the moment to stretch.

Peter had every reason to freak out, after all. He had missed five years — five long, long years. It was bound to come with many setbacks — including having to learn about the new lives of the people who stayed.

Finally, Peter seemed to run dry. He stopped mumbling and went awfully quiet, as if only now the meaning of Tony's words had been processed.

"We were from Queens — why would she move?" He demanded, and Tony could only lift his open hands and show the kid he had nothing.

"You know her better than me, Pete. I'm not sure." Although he did have his guess, his assumptions. He kept those to himself, though, rather than sharing them with Peter. No reason to put any more weight on the kid's shoulders when he already took on so much more than his due.

He nodded weakly. "Can I call her?"

"Of course. You should, actually. I'm sure she's waiting to hear from you."

"Alright. Yeah, sure. I'll… go do that now."

.

The ceiling was still white.

Several hours had passed, Tony knew that much, although precisely how many he had no clue, and still the ceiling remained the same shade of white it had been when he first threw himself on the bed, tired to the very bones.

So, yeah, still fucking white.

Not like he had expected it to change, in all fairness, although it would be far from the weirdest thing to happen to him in the last few days. It simply felt weird — wrong. Sacrimonious, really, that the goddamn ceiling could be so white — so perfectly white, without one fucking stain to speak of — when all else was just so… messed up.

They had won, trillions of people were snapped back into existence, the stones would be delivered to their respective timelines, Thanos was dead.

They had won.

Tony did it. He held all the Infinity Stones in his grasp and survived to see another day. Once more, Tony Stark did the impossible, and this time it fucking mattered a big time.

Peter was back.

Wanda was back.

So many Avengers… so many people, so many planets, and galaxies, and…

They were all back.

And Tony was alive.

Somehow.

He had no idea how that happened. How he survived the Stones when it should've been impossible, when Strange had looked at him dead in the eyes and nodded. Agreed. Gave him the signal that that was the one chance they had. The only timeline in which they didn't lose.

At the time, he had been ready to do it. To die for the trillions of people who deserved the chance to live once more, to come back.

If Peter came back, if his debt was paid to the universe, then it was more than worth it. He would've done it for Peter alone, to be honest. That he got to save the others was just more incentive to do what he would already have done anyway.

Still, the question remained: how come he was alive as well now?

Tony raised his bandaged arm, belidewered all again at his stupid, never-ending luck. An ugly, messed-up arm was nothing compared to the price he had expected to pay for his actions. Nothing a few weeks of rest wouldn't fix — as much as it was possible, anyway.

In his mind, for maybe the first time ever, vanity and narcissism failed to rear their ugly heads and the esthetics of it was the furthest thing from his thoughts. It seemed so small now, so inconsequential, so ridiculous to worry about his appearance when he could almost hear Peter's movements inside his house…

Peter was alive.

He was alive, and nothing could prevent a shocked, maniac smile from making its way to Tony lips.

They weren't dead.

They were not fucking dead.

Who would've fucking guessed it?

.

"Okay, Baby Girl, hit me," Tony ordered, relaxing in his chair. It was time to get down to it.

"Should we begin with Mister Parker or Miss Maximoff, Boss," Fri asked straight away.

"Maximoff. Wanda. Go with her," Tony said, thankful for the question. It was nice of her to pretend Tony hadn't spent countless nights reading about every little file in existence about Peter. Nice of her to act as if he needed the introduction, as if he was not the most informed person in the galaxy about Peter Parker.

What he needed now was to know everything about the person he had invited to live with them.

.

Peter somersaulted over the couch, landing on top of the centre table, perfectly balanced on the tip of his toes. Tony blinked, trying to stop his racing heart from bursting out of his mouth. God, he needed to get a grip. The last thing Peter needed was for Tony to act like his mutation was a freaky thing that made him uncomfortable — especially because that wasn't the case. Tony wasn't freaked out by Peter's powers; he simply couldn't see the boy doing acrobatics without feeling as though he was about to fall and get horribly injured.

It made no sense. Peter had proven many times over that he had a good grip over his abilities and that they were much more impressive than Tony had ever believed them to be in the first place. The kid could adhere to walls, for Christ's sake. He wasn't about to die from a little jump in the living room. And yet, no matter how many times Tony repeated those words to himself, he still couldn't get over the feeling that all it would take was a slip, a wrong move, a distraction…

He lived in fear of the moment that Peter would inevitably get hurt, and it was eating at his insides.

After five years of living without him, after watching him disappear in Titan, after the fight, after everything, goddammit, Tony's brain had developed an almost Pavlovian response to Peter. Tony saw him, and he needed to protect him with everything he's got.

Then he realised Peter was talking to him. Opening his mouth, forming words, informing him that—

Tony stopped. Waited for the words to sink in. "You don't want to visit your aunt?" He repeated, hoping he had misunderstood Peter's clear words.

"No," Peter brutally confirmed. "No, I don't."

"Peter—"

"I just don't feel like it," Peter spoke over him, going for an expression of disinterest only to land closer to a pained, twisted frown. It was useless for him to try, Tony wanted to say — Peter's eyes always gave him away.

"You've returned from the grave, basically," It's what he said, instead. "I think she wants to see you. I wouldn't put it past her to storm in here."

"I'll go. Just not now. We've texted. She understands." The words were clipped and the tone ended the conversation, just like that.

Tony knew May understood nothing, which just about left them together on the clueless train. Two idiots with no idea of what was happening inside Peter's head.

.

"Don't you have anyone to visit? People who came back from the snap?" Wanda asked one random morning, and Tony wanted to stuff the piece of toast in his hands down her throat.

"Nope," he said instead, keeping the air light. He could hardly resist the dig, though. "You?"

She glared at him, fingers curling around the knife in her hand. "You know I don't."

"I don't, actually," he lied. Tony knew her life better than anyone else alive — maybe even better than she did when it came to the technicalities. "Who knows what sort of adventures Uncle Steve had planned for you guys and all? Being on the road and shit — I'm sure it was a blast."

"Fuck off, Stark."

"Ouch."

"We drove and hid. Not many friendships along the way, believe it or not. Surprisingly, people aren't very friendly to strangers in a van."

"They aren't? I wouldn't know. Vans aren't really my thing." He shrugged, going back to his toast and hoping this conversation could be over now. In his experience, dragging up the past rarely served anything good.

"I bet," Wanda mumbled under her breath, also going back to her food. For a long moment they ate in peace, and Tony almost tricked himself into believing that would be the end of it. The second he took his last bite, however, she came back swinging. "Why do you do this?"

The temptation to take the golden opportunity she had given him and make a haste escape was nearly irresistible. A terrible joke, a well-placed jab… so many options there, really. Wanda was close to begging him to slither his way out of this conversation.

Despite his better reasonings, he stayed. Tony exhaled and stayed where he was, internally wondering about his masochist tendencies.

"Do what, exactly?" He dutifully asked, following his cue to perfection.

Wanda didn't even have the grace to look pleasantly surprised. "Pretend you don't know about my life," she said, all business. Their eyes met. Tony wished he could read whatever emotion hid in hers.

"No like I know everything about you, Quick-Fingers. I'm not sure if you are aware, but I have more important things in my life to do than to spy on you and the whole Steve summer camp."

"Ugh, stop. You're always so-ugh-so," she waved her hand in the direction of his face, "—this! Stop."

Tony blinked. "I'm not sure my face is removable."

"That's not what I mean, Stark, and you know it. You evade. There's always an answer, a response, a trick."

"That's how conversations work, sweetheart. You ask and I answer," Tony explained, sipping his lukewarm coffee and nearly grimacing at the taste. He could almost see the levels of irritation rising inside Wanda with how transparent she was. Tony wished that was enough to stop him. "Otherwise shit will get confusing, right?"

She shook her head at him, a familiar mix of frustration and disgust twisting her features. "What does one have to do to get you to speak plainly, hun? Is this all you have?" Wanda asked. Weirdly enough, she seemed to mean it. "The tricks? Is that all you give people?"

Wouldn't that be so much simpler?

Christ, if only Tony could've done himself away with the emotions and confusing feelings and kept a healthy distance from others… well, that would've been fucking wonderful. Instead, he got this clusterfuck of failed relationships tied to his name — one worse than the next.

Howard. Rhodey. Pepper. Obadiah. Jarvis. Steve.

"You want a shot of honestly, princess?" Tony said, wishing the words didn't have such a bitter aftertaste. "Call my assistant and schedule an appointment during my office hours. Right now I'm having breakfast — I don't take requests."

Wanda's lips curled in a sour smile. "I see," she said quietly, getting up from the table and taking her dirty dishes to the sink. On her way out, she stopped at the table once more. "You're good; I'll give you that. I almost believe you, Stark. Almost."

.

"Let's get a screen up, Fri. Peter — wherever he is," Tony ordered, too tired to fight against the urge. "Keep it running."

Thankfully, his A.I kept her witty comments to herself and only replied softly, "Yes, Boss," before settling a small holographic screen to his left side.

It was a private scene. Peter was rolling in his bed, clearly trying to go to sleep and having some difficulty. He was wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that Tony had the sinking suspicion belonged to him — bare-chested and spread lazily across the bed.

Tony had absolutely no business watching that, spying on Peter. None at all.

It was wrong and so, so inexcusable.

Still. It instantly calmed him a bit, so Tony kept the screen right where it was and went back to work, happy to be able to focus on the numbers once more.

If every now and then he stopped to check on Peter, well, that was still better than a million other options Tony had running through his head, so he fought down the guilt and told himself it was alright.

_Only once_ , Tony mentally promised. Only today.

.

The feeling still threatened to drown him whole. No matter how many days had passed and how much time Tony spent looking at Peter and watching him on endless screens and listening to the sound of his voice and the never-ending noises he made as the little-spider moved across the house.

The feeling was still there.

Not the same as before, of course.

No.

It was a different sort of fear. A whole other kind of desperation that sat heavily on top of his chest every single day — so alien to him, and yet maddeningly similar. So, so similar.

Tony needed to watch Peter. To see him. To keep him within touching distance just so he could prove to himself that his return was not an intricate plot of his sick mind after the years of psychological torture.

The thing was: the task never seemed to get easier. It should — in theory. It fucking should, right?

As the days turned into weeks and nothing changed, his damn oh-so-genius brain should've adapted to the new reality and allowed Tony some measure of peace. Some resting time where his thoughts weren't consumed by the need to make sure things were still exactly as they should be and Peter was still where he needed to be.

And yet.

Despite reason, there Tony was, staring at another holographic image of Peter Parker with enough focus to hurt.

Like a fucking sicko.

Like the fucked-up Tony had admitted to himself he was, deep down.

It was late — closer to sunrise than to sundown — and Tony was sitting in his bed, wide awake, with a Stark Pad in his hands, many formulas left unfinished there as he lost himself in the projection of Peter's room.

Of his bed.

Of Peter.

"Shut it down, Fri," Tony ordered sharply, closing his eyes to avoid seeing the images fade away. God, he was losing it. Getting completely wrapped inside his own paranoias and fears, imagining scenarios that would never exist.

Tony needed to get a grip.

He needed to get a fucking grip, fast. Before he lost the last strand of sanity he still had left as he stared at a fucking holographic image of a person who was sleeping a few feet away in the room next to his.

.

"Could I go back?"

"Do you want to?"

"That's not what I asked."

"Yes," Tony said, keeping his eyes on the screen in front of him. "Of course. You're not a prisoner here. If you want to return to the compound, you're free to leave."

"Why bring me here, then?"

"I thought Peter could use the company."

"Could you be serious for once?"

"I don't know what you mean; I'm always serious."

"Stark. Why did you bring me here?"

His last name coming from her mouth again was enough to get him to lift his head and meet her eyes. Tony had almost forgotten how much he had once hated his name crossing her lips — how much anger she had put behind it.

That wasn't how she said it now. But, still…

"Would you have preferred to stay there?" Tony asked, knowing he had given her zero choices at the time to say no to him. To choose her own fate.

"I don't know," she said. Then paused. "No. I wouldn't. I don't know. I guess it would've been… strange to live there without—"

Vision. Jarvis.

Of course.

Tony winced, wishing she had never brought the subject up because now the memories flooded his mind all at once and it seemed impossible to remember how he could've been doing anything other than looking back and regretting his every decision regarding Vision.

"I'm sorry," Wanda said, as though she couldn't get enough of twisting the knife deeper and deeper. "I understand-I mean, I know the two of you were rather close—"

"We weren't," Tony corrected. "We weren't. You knew Vision better than anyone else, probably. I didn't."

"But he—"

"It wasn't the same," he carried on, hoping she would desist from this line of questioning. "Jarvis was… When he… They weren't the same. Vision was his own person, as you very well know."

"I. yes," Wanda agreed, although there was a look of confusion on her face that Tony forced himself to stop analysing. "He was."

Tony wished the words weren't so goddamn bitter in his mouth.

.

The music stopped.

"Miss Potts is calling again, Sir," F.R.I.D.A.Y announced all of a sudden, breaking the new silence with her gentle voice. Tony was smart enough to read in between the lines.

"And I remember telling you to redirect all my calls earlier today, hun?" He still tried, but his hands came to a halt and the screw he had been reaching for stayed put on the floor beside him.

"She insists, Boss," Fri said, and Tony knew that was his A.I's way of bossing him around. It was a touch insulting, and yet… It reminded him enough of J.A.R.V.I.S. that the words of protest never reached his lips.

He sighed.

It wasn't purely F.R.I.D.A.Y's fault, he was painfully aware. Pepper was insisting, no doubt. If he didn't take the call now, it was just a matter of time before she came in-person to scream at him about whatever it was this time.

"Put her through," Tony said, sliding out from under his car and wiping his dirty hands on his shirt. This call wouldn't remain a call for very long, he knew.

Within seconds, Pepper's voice erupted from the speakers, louder than any voice had the power of being for reasons Tony would rather not examine too closely.

"Anthony Stark," Pepper spoke straight away. "Do you have any idea how many times I called you?"

"Why, hello, Pepper. I'm great, thank you for asking. How are you on this lovely morning?"

"It's almost dinner time, Tony. Don't start with me. I would have had plenty of opportunities to ask about your mood if you had bothered to pick up any of my dozen calls."

Tony winced. "Well, you know how it is… having roommates and all."

"No, Tony, I do not know. The only roommate I ever had was you, and I'm sure that's far from a normal experience."

"I have no idea what you mean with that."

"I'm sure you don't," Pepper said, then paused. A moment passed in silence, which quite surely preceded the actual reason for the phone calls. "Tony… how are you, really?"

The question was so tentative, so unsure. A less threatening way of wording the worries they both knew hid in between the lines.

"I'm alright, Pepper," he answered, ignoring the bitter aftertaste of the enormous lie. In a way, it was such a small one in the endless line of lies he had told her. "No need to worry your pretty head of fiery hair with me."

"I always worry about you," she said straight away. "You know that. If you didn't lie so much to me, perhaps it would help me worry less. I already know you're not alright, Tony, don't bullshit me. I asked how are you, not if you're alright. Give me something to work with."

"What do you want me to say, Pep? I'm as alright as I'll ever be, I suppose."

"Don't say that," she said, so hopeful. So very full of expectation and desires for him that it hurt. Pepper wanted so many things for him, so much. It was a heavy weight to carry. "Don't."

And it brought out the worst in Tony. The self-destructive, rebellious instinct that made him want to ruin his goddamn life if only it would make people stop trying to tell him what he ought to be doing instead. "What? Does it hurt to hear the—"

"Stop," Pepper cut him off, speaking over him with such a force that the rest of the poisonous words died in his mouth. "Please. Stop."

She understood.

Pepper, the most patient, understanding person to ever walk the earth, had lived with his bullshit long enough to know his triggers almost better than Tony did. So, yeah, of course she knew. Of course she could predict the words he had been about to utter even if he never got the chance to actually do so.

Pepper knew.

And she was trying to help.

As always, Pepper was going above and beyond to help Tony.

And for Christ's sake, it burned.

Burned that she was so right and Tony had only ever been wrong in his entire life.

"What do you want, Pepper?" He breathed the question, hoping she would get to the point already and leave him to his work. To his projects, his cars, his lab, his inventions, his personal space, his thoughts and self-flagellation, which were all he had now after, well, everything.

"I want to know how you are. How you really are," she said, her voice but a whisper. "Do I need to drive there? 'Cause you know I can, I only need to—"

"Pep. Pepper. Stop. You don't," Tony rushed to say. The last thing he needed was a visit. "I'm as fine as I'll get. Let's learn to live with it."

You left, he wanted to say. Stop calling when you were the one who left.

He said none of the acid words burning at the back of his throat, and instead, kept repeating that he was fine, that he was alright, that he wasn't about to lose his shit, and all the other lies he had practised his entire life, until she accepted it. Until she gave up.

When she finally hung up, Tony released a deep breath he hadn't even known he had been holding in all through the call.

She wouldn't come. No one would show up. They were okay.

No one was coming.

.

Peter had changed.

Tony had expected that. Had known that what they lived through was bound to leave a deep mark even on a good kid like Peter. So, yeah, he had prepared for nightmares, and panic attacks, and strange coping methods, and a lot of weird, uncomfortable talks about, well, everything.

What he hadn't prepared for, were the insane mood shifts.

These days, Tony walked around in a constant state of anxiety, wondering which sort of mood Peter would be in when he turned the corner, and it wore off on Tony's considerable tolerance to stress.

The way Peter would wake up smiling and flipping around and jumping over couches and tables, only to land on a chair and remain seated there, in silence, for two hours, a sour, contemplative look on his face that seemed almost wrong when paired with his young, smooth features.

He laughed at a joke on Monday, only to flinch at it on Tuesday. He danced to the beat of old rock on Friday, and couldn't bear the loud sound on Saturday. He wanted, only to turn around and claim he had never wanted it in the first place, and for Christ's sake, Tony's nerves were fraying more and more each passing day.

Maybe because he was so attuned to Peter in a way he had never been to anyone else before, the changes seemed almost impossible to handle. His mood started to mirror Peter to an extent that it became laughable.

The universe had almost come to a collapse, and Tony was empowering all his considerable intellect to foresee the necessities of one single person. And with mediocre results, to show for it.

It was bizarre.

.

"No one's calling," Wanda said one Saturday morning as they had lunch, shifting her food around her plate. She raised her head and met Tony's eyes. "Why is no one calling?"

Tony swallowed a mouthful before answering her. "Because I told them not to call." He gave her the truth, figuring she deserved that. In his mind, Tony had imagined that both Peter and Wanda had already figured that out.

She blinked, surprised. "Why would you do that?"

"I figured we all needed some time after…" He weighed the words and then gave up. Too much work to embellish it. "...Thanos and everything."

"And it didn't occur to you that I might have wanted to make that decision for myself?" Wanda questioned, her voice getting progressively louder as she worked herself up. By his side, Peter also turned to stare at him with curiosity stamped on his face, although he lacked the anger Tony could see simmering on Wanda's eyes.

This could turn ugly quickly.

Very ugly, very quickly.

Shit.

"Would you like to return to the field?" Tony asked, doing his best to keep a neutral expression on his face.

"You ask that now?"

"Well, there's still a lot of shit to do. No time like the present. If you want to get back on the rotation, tell me. I'm sure there's a ton for you to do."

"And would you?" She pressed, holding her fork in a way that spoke volumes. Tony began to wonder if he would need his suit in the near-by future. "Would you let me leave?"

The question was perplexing, though.

"What?" He asked. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, why are you keeping me here in the first place, Stark?" Wanda demanded, standing up and slamming the fork down on the table. The whole table trembled with the force of it.

In response, Tony relaxed further into his chair, leaning back and making no defensive moves. The last thing he wanted was to escalate the situation. "I'm not keeping you here. You're free to leave whenever you please. I've told you so already."

"You use words as magicians use their hands, Stark. You manipulate and you hide. How can I believe the things you say when you keep so much from me?"

Peter shifted in his place. "Wanda, perhaps you shouldn't—"

"Shut up, Peter," she cut him off, angrily waving his words away. "This doesn't concern you."

That spiked Tony's anger more than the words before. Still, he breathed in and out, in and out. He would not escalate. He was better than this. He had promised himself to do better, to be better.

"It's okay, buddy," Tony said, placing a calming hand on Peter's shoulders and giving him a light squeeze. "Wanda can say whatever she wants. It's fine."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Oh, thank you," she mocked. "It's a blessing to know that I can—"

This time, Tony was the one to cut her off, speaking over her without any struggle. This he knew how to do. "However, it does surprise me that you are asking me this in the first place."

"What do you mean?"

"Why not get the information directly from the source? Why ask me when you could make your own decisions, as you pointed out?" Tony calmly asked. He already knew the answer, though. "When was the last time _you_ called anyone from the team?"

Wanda blinked. Stared.

"I. I mean- I didn't know I could," she said weakly after a few moments of significant silence.

"You didn't? I doubt that. I told you on your first day here that F.R.I.D.A.Y. was available to you for any need you might have, including making phone calls. And you have your cell phone, I'm sure — all the Avengers get one."

"That's not- You are the one who—" Wanda's words died in her lips. She fisted and relaxed her hands several times. Tony squeezed Peter's shoulder once again, feeling the tension there. "You could've told me. Who would I have called?"

"Anyone. You know some of them better than I do, Wanda," Tony pointed out. "You could've even called Maria. Fury. Phil Coulson. I'm sure many people are willing to accept a call from you."

"No one called," she said, still so angry, so frustrated. The words betrayed her, the tone even more so. "I couldn't…"

"And that's fine," Tony finally said, giving her a serious look. "I figured you needed a break. A lot of us do. It's alright."

"Don't tell me what I need. I know how to take care of myself."

"I'm sure you do. I never said otherwise."

"You allowed the others to believe me weak, broken. As though I couldn't help—"

"I never said any of that. No one thinks you're broken or weak. Absolutely no one who saw you fight Thanos alone could ever think that." Tony shook his head. He was starting to understand what had brought this up, and it was not good. "And you have helped. There are people who are doing what needs to be done now."

"I could help!" She screamed, furious. "I could be there, helping them, instead of being locked away in this house, doing nothing. Being useless."

"There is nothing for you to do," Tony said. "We're working on behind the scene shit now. Paperwork, speeches, money, evidence, cover stories… People are getting their lives back together after five years. That will take time. There's no fight, Wanda. What would you like to do?"

"But if Clint and James and Dr. Banner—"

"Clint is at home with his kids. Barnes is off the grid — taking some time off as well. Bruce is at the Compound working because that's what Bruce does. He likes to work. He's doing research and helping at the medical bay," Tony listed, waving his hand at the empty space in front of him. "You would like to help with what part of this?"

At that, Wanda had no words. She just stared at him for the longest of times, her eyes shining with poorly concealed anger and resentment, before she turned around and walked away. Stormed away.

This time, when Tony buried his head in his hands, torn between relief and regret, it was Peter who placed his hand in Tony's shoulder in a silent show of support. Even as the minutes grew long and Tony couldn't seem to find the strength to get up, Peter remained there, by his side, saying absolutely nothing.

Perhaps more than any word of comfort he might have uttered, it helped.

.

There were rules to intimacy. An entire book of them, in fact. A whole damn list of circumstances, and experiences, and moments, and a bunch of other things that people needed to go through together in order to truly be intimate.

It's a thing.

It was.

And Tony knew the book better than anyone else — mostly because he liked to be aware of where not to step with the people around him, less they started to believe they were something they could never be.

Tony Stark didn't do friendships or romances or love or anything of the sort. Forget it. Been there, done that, had multiple scars to show for it. No. He would rather keep his distance than to pretend he could ever forge meaningful bonds again.

He had tried. Tried with Steve, tried with the Avengers, tried with Pepper, tried with Rhodey, tried with Vision, tried with Obie, tried with his mother, tried with Jarvis, tried with his father.

Tony had a life-long list of tries, and they all went down the same path, given him the same lesson, taught him the same goddamn thing: that he was better off alone. That Tony Stark was born alone and he would die as well. The less he mucked it up during the trajectory from one point to the other, the better.

Einstein once said that insanity was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. It was true. It had to be insanity to keep fighting a losing battle when you were perfectly aware that it was, indeed, a losing batter. And fuck, the whole world knew that Tony was a selfish prick who had no space and time in his life for anyone other than his own damn self.

It was alright, though. Tony had made peace with it — he had. 'Course, first there had been anger and disbelief and frustration and sadness and guilt and an endless pool of self-hatred. And for the longest time, Tony had swum, dived headfirst, and drowned into it, hopelessly swallowing and vomiting that acid hate, perhaps waiting, hoping that it would be the thing to finally kill him once and for all.

But it hadn't. The anxiety, the PTSD, the panic attacks, the loathing he felt for himself, for his past, for everything that he had done and the still ongoing repercussions of it, none of it managed to keep him down. To finish him. To put an end to his misery.

Somehow, despite the logical reasonings of life, Tony had survived past all the crap that should've killed him. It was only fair, then, that he had learned a few things along the way — as useless as they had proven to be when it truly mattered. So, yeah, he had learned stuff, and most of it was about learning to let go.

To let go of his bigger-than-life ego, which had served only to get thousands murdered; to let go of his control and his greed, both of which had almost got S.I buried into the ground under his terrible leadership… Christ, to let go of any pretences that he would ever have any chance at a normal life — with a 9-to-5 job, and a cosy house, and a wife, and kids, and all those ideals that Disney insisted were the foundations upon which a fulfilling life was built on.

So Tony Stark didn't get to have people. Oh boo-hoo, big fucking deal. There was a whole big ass universe out there, filled with terrifying crap and even more terrifying aliens, and his small, personal problems had long stopped being a priority even in his own self-oriented mind.

Half of the universe had vanished. Died. Disappeared with a snap of fingers into a cloud of dust. If nothing else, it served to give everyone perspective on the priorities of life.

Tony spent three years on his own, living at the cabin, rooming around the place, building useless crap for no one only to dismantle everything once it was done, getting up in the mornings and lying back down god only knows when once exhaustion caught up to him. In that time, he had garnered a newfound respect for medically-induced sleep, and it showed.

He slept — for hours on end. Sure, he had nightmares — or worse yet, memories brought back to the surface — but at that point that was a given. Something he had gotten used to. Humans, it turned out, could get used to everything given enough time and no other option. So Tony embraced it — the nightmares, the terrors, the dreams... if one could call them that.

It was far better than the alternative, which was to stay awake, staring at his own hands and seeing nothing but the cold, ashy remains of Peter that clung to the skin there, no matter how many times he washed them, or scrubbed them raw, or covered them with grease, with car-oil, with gloves, with tape, with bandages. No, sleep was indefinitely better than whatever alternative he had, mostly because, in his dreams, Peter was still there.

The point was: there were rules to intimacy. There were rules, and Tony respected all of them. Followed them to the letter almost like a personal sort of religion, and it fucking worked. With one small, tiny little problem.

Peter.

Peter Fucking Parker.

He was a problem, a huge damn problem, and each day it became more and more of an inescapable mess. Mainly because it was no one else's fault but his own, and thus, there's not much to be done about it — except perhaps that lobotomy that Pepper had once suggested in the middle of a screaming match.

Tony didn't want to be close to Peter. He didn't want to forge connections, to get close, to talk about feelings, to open his heart and all that other crap that tended to come with intimacy. For God's sake, no. None of that. Nuh-uh. Nope. Absolutely not.

What he did want was to make sure that Peter never again had as much as a single scratch on him, that's all. And if that meant glueing himself to the kid's side, well, that was just a downside he would have to deal with, 'cause there was absolutely no way that he was ever letting Peter get out of his line of sight again.

Not after the last time. Not after Thanos. Not after Titan.

Tony had lost Peter one time too many, and he dared the universe to try to pry that little spider from his grasps this time.

.

"I said they would come for you after Lagos."

Wanda snorted. "You also said that I would be safe at the Compound!"

"And you were. You were fucking safe there — and you still decided to leave; to follow Clint on his suicide mission."

"I couldn't hide and wait forever. If I did that, then I would have to hide my whole life."

"No, you wouldn't!" Tony corrected, frustrated with having to deal with those same arguments all over again. "I know it may sound that way when you are a teenager, but things don't need to have an immediate result to be worthwhile. Believe it or not, I know how the media and the public work better than Cap or Clint."

"I killed people," Wanda pointed out, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She was always on the defensive with Tony. "Time doesn't change that."

"Time gives people a chance to forget, to put things in perspective. That's how it works — don't be naive."

Wanda paused. She eyed him, visibly gathering the courage to utter whatever she was about to say, and Tony could do little else but to breathe in deeply and hope it wasn't about to be about—

"The Raft…"

That.

Tony turned his head away. "What about it?" He asked past the lump starting to form in his throat, even though the last thing he wanted was to talk about the fucked-up mess that the Raft had been. The image of her in a straitjacket would haunt him forever.

"I know you helped Steve," she accused, acting as though she was some sort of great spy for figuring that out on her own.

"Well, seeing as I was responsible for putting you all there in the first place, it seemed like the least I could do."

"Ross—"

"Ross is an idiot. An idiot with a lot of power, yes, but an idiot nevertheless. If I hadn't helped him, if I hadn't…" Tony shrugged. "That's on me."

Wanda tilted her head in consideration. "It seems that you think a lot of things are on you," she said, and she sounded calmer for some weird reason.

"Are they not?" Tony countered. "Apparently, I don't know the difference between saving the world and destroying it. Isn't that what you said?"

Wanda closed her eyes, a pained line forming on her forehead. "I was wrong," she admitted, her voice strained. "We do not have time for me to apologise for all the things I was wrong about in the past. There are far too many…"

"I'm not expecting apologies." And he wasn't. Tony had learned the hard way to never expect that which was not coming.

"Doesn't mean you don't deserve one."

"In this case, I don't. Not from you. If anything, you're the one owed an apology."

"I know you believe you are the monster of my nightmares, Tony, but you're not," Wanda said gently, her green eyes sad and distant. "Hydra has a way of turning your insides out. Growing up in a cage, at a dirty lab… being used as an experiment to their twisted visions… that's what will haunt me to my dying breath. Feeling the empty space where my brother was supposed to be, where Vision…"

"Not what you expected, hun?" Tony asked, equally as gentle, knowing all too well about the feelings she was expressing. Sometimes you went to someone looking for answers and found only a dark path in its place.

It was a harsh lesson.

"You could say that, yes." She smiled ironically, shaking her head.

Tony looked up at the ceiling, remembering another day and another awkward conversation. "Some kid once told me that with great power comes great responsibility."

Wanda huffed beside him. "Some kid, hun?" There was a touch of humor wrapped around her words.

Tony's mouth curled up despite his better sense. "Yup. He's a good kid. Has his days, really."

.

"Give me Pe—" Tony began, caving to his desires without more than a moment of hesitation. And it seemed like his A.I was also attuned to his lack of self-control because before he managed to get the whole order out, a screen had already popped-up in front of him.

Mere inches from his face. Right there. So very close.

Suspiciously close.

"Why the lack of personal space?" He asked Fri even as his eyes danced across the large screen, taking in Peter's position on his bed.

"Would you prefer it in another position, Boss?" She responded, and Tony could swear there was a definite smug air about her.

Tony grunted. "Don't get too sassy. I can still turn you off." Yet the words are flat. Absentmindedly. With absolutely no weight to them whatsoever — and not just because they both knew better than to think him able of letting go of another one of his A.I, but also because his focus is someplace else.

Peter is shifting and tossing and turning in his sleep.

Mumbling little cries that belied his situation.

Tony was no stranger to nightmares. Damn, he had invented the school and anointed himself the fucking principal while he was at it. So, yeah, he knew a damn bad dream when he saw one.

They all had them now. With good reason, too. How could they not, after everything?

It wasn't the first time Tony had witnessed one of Peter's bad nights either, shameful as that was. It was, however, the first time that it left him unsettled. Anxious. As though he had some sort of duty to help. To get up from his comfortable bed and across the hallway and invade Peter's room and go over to his bed and place his hands on Peter's shoulder and shake him until—

_Isn't it your fault that he's in this situation in the first place?_ A deep, cutting voice spat in Tony's brain and it was too bad that it sounded suspiciously like his fucking father. _Let the kid be. He doesn't need more of your brand of help._

It's the truth. Which, annoyingly, more and more seemed to be the case whenever his father was concerned. He had no business thinking he could — should — meddle any more with Peter's life. Not when his record was as abysmal as it goddamn was.

And yet…

His hands clenched, trapping the silk sheet in his fists. Tony wanted to. Wanted to go. Couldn't bear another second of watching that screen from a distance when he knew he could do something about it.

Anything.

He needed to. Tony needed to do something. He couldn't just watch as Peter's head went from side to side, searching for something that wasn't there.

Without giving himself time to change his mind, Tony got up, walked up to Peter's room and opened the door softly. Even from a distance, he could see Peter's frown and the way his mouth was slightly open.

"Pete," Tony whispered, stepping closer and shaking his shoulder lightly. He kept his touch loose and careful — it wouldn't do to touch more than he needed to. "Hey, buddy. Time to wake up."

Fat lot of good it did him. Peter showed no more signs of waking up than he had before — still restless and moving, but locked deep in his dream state.

Tony breathed. Held tighter. Curled his hand around Peter's bicep — all while trying to ignore the strong band of muscle coiled tight beneath his touch. The kid had no business having that sort of strength.

"Wake up, Baby-Spider," Tony said, hoping the hated nickname would be enough to bring Peter to conscience. And also to remind himself that Peter was young. A baby. Fucking young.

Oh so young, goddammit.

It's not the nickname that did it, though. Not close.

It was the grip Tony had of Peter's arm that triggered the younger man's self-defense mechanism, making his eyes snap open in a flash while he ripped his limb free and used it to grab a handful of Tony's shirt and pull him close.

So very close.

In a blink, they were staring at each other's eyes, almost crossed eyed to do so, breathing the same air and equally shocked at the situation.

Peter was sweating and gasping for air and forcing his eyes impossibly wide and half lifting his upper body from the bed and holding Tony in place with a single hand and… he seemed beyond frightened.

It made it easier for Tony to speak over his own pounding heartbeat. "Hey, buddy. It's me. Tony. It's okay; You're safe," he mumbled in a rush, trying to be both soothing and reassuring. "It was a dream. It's not real."

"I—" Peter gasped before taking another, deeper breath. "You're here. I—I'm here and-a dream." He babbled, clearly still processing his surroundings.

Tony nodded, ignoring the uncomfortable position and multitude of feelings it rose within him. Later — Tony could freak out later. Peter needed him now.

So he nodded slowly, making no brusque movements. "You're alright, Pete. You're just fine," Tony confronted, holding his hands up in a classic surrender move. "I won't hurt you."

Peter blinked. "Tony," he breathed right into the space between them. Hot and throaty. "Why are you—" The words died in his mouth as he took in their position. His hand — still pulling Tony in.

It was impossible not to follow Peter's gaze to his own chest. "Thinking about letting me go, buddy?" Tony joked, his voice tight and strained. Eyes flickering back and forth between Peter's face and his hand.

Peter shook his head. "I don't think I can." He exhaled shakily. "I—I- My hand won't move." There was a line in Peter's usual smooth forehead. A frown. "Why did you come?" He asked.

"Should I have left you to your nightmare?"

"You never cared before."

And that's such a huge lie that Tony couldn't even manage to suppress his huff of disbelief.

The line deepened. "What does that mean?"

"Just because I never came to your room personally, it doesn't mean that I wasn't monitoring your sleep, Peter," Tony tried to explain, only it came out in the weirdest way possible and instead of sounding caring, Tony sounded like a possessive creep. Which wasn't far from the truth, but he tended to hide it better than that.

"Monitoring?" Peter repeated, somehow making the word sound even worse when uttered a second time.

Tony winced. "Let's just go back to sleep, hun?" He suggested, patting Peter's hand and hoping the boy would have some mercy on him. "We'll talk in the morning."

It's clearly not Tony's lucky night, though. "Since when?" Peter demanded, ignoring everything Tony had just said.

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that, buddy."

"Since we got here?" Peter guessed, pressed, and it's the perfect excuse. Tony would just need to say yes, to confirm Peter's guess and they could both forget this horrible incident.

It's not what came out of his mouth. Not even close.

Tony shook his head. "Before. Germany," he admitted, the words crossing his lips without his consent for some reason, and it sounded every bit as disturbing out loud as he had imagined it would.

The whole thing was a horrifying round two of the security conversation he had had with Pepper a few years ago. Tony knew exactly how it would go — what he would hear — and it baffled his considerable brain that he would put himself in a situation like that again. On purpose.

There was no gasp, though.

No scream. No shocked, aghast look of betrayal. No two, three, four steps back.

Instead, Peter seemed to be calculating.

"The suit?" He asked. Guessed. Weirdly calm.

"That as well," Tony agreed, like a fucking idiot. "Your phone. Your friend Ted."

"Ned," Peter corrected, and shit, was that the important part?

"Sure. Whatever. Ned. Yeah, him." Tony breathed. "Look, Peter, I'm sor—"

"I don't mind," Peter cut him off, easily speaking over him. "Don't apologize."

What? "Hun?"

"It's alright, I guess. I figured you had all sorts of access to me anyway — with how Happy always had no trouble finding me. You're Tony Stark. Tech is kind of your middle name."

"Peter, that's not- Why didn't you say anything?"

A strange look crossed his face. "You really are clueless, aren't you?" He said, sort of sadly. "I didn't say anything because it wasn't a problem. The opposite, in fact. I wanted so badly for you to notice me, Tony."

"I did notice you."

"You noticed Spider-Man. You noticed a superhero. A help. Not Peter Parker."

"How can you say that?" Tony said, and now he was angry. Pissed off at the audacity of that fucking kid. "After the ferry, after Titan, after—"

"You never called," Peter whispered.

Tony took the opportunity to bat Peter's hand away and step away from the bed, putting distance between them. As he should.

"The best thing I could've ever done for you would've been to have never called you in the first place," he said, admitted. The words burned on their way out. "Every time I managed to not call you, was a small blessing in your life. Trust me."

And it killed Tony that it was true. That Peter had once been occupied with small thefts and stolen bikes, jumping from building to building in his little onesie, without any sort of intervention from the Avengers.

From Tony.

When Peter opened his mouth to respond, still slow and recovering from his nightmare, Tony raised a hand to stop him, taking another step back.

"Go back to sleep, Peter. It's late," he said, regretting his decision to come, to meddle, to once more try to make things better without any sort of clue on what he was doing.

With those words, Tony walked away. He wished he could say he never looked back.

.

"You know, if you keep rejecting bacon," Tony said, pointing at her with the dirty spatula in his hands. "I might start to think there's something truly wrong with you."

Wanda blinked, surprised. "I'm a vegetarian, actually."

"You are?" Tony asked. "Why would you do that to yourself?"

She shrugged. "I didn't have much of an option on what I ate when I lived in Sokovia," she explained, as if it wasn't a big deal. "First in the streets and then at the lab… I had to eat what I could. Most of it was disgusting, to be honest. So when I moved here — let's put it that way — I decided to allow myself to be very selective."

"I get that. But why meat? Meat is fucking delicious."

"It can be," Wanda agreed. "When it's bought from a supermarket. When it's cooked right. When you have no attachment to the animal. When you see only the final product. Sure. Not so much when it's a dead rat you killed on the streets, though."

Tony winced. "Shit. Yeah, I guess that memory must linger."

She met his eyes, a brief shadow of seriousness flashing quickly across her face before fading back into the same calm from before. "It does. Many memories linger more than I wished they did."

"Preach, sister," Tony said. "So, no meat then?"

"No meat."

"What do you eat then?"

"Everything else."

"What else? You can't eat burgers, hot dogs, pizza, meatballs, steaks…"

She smiled, amused. "I do eat pizza, Tony. And burgers, for that matter. Soy patties are very much like actual meat."

"Wow. You just lost my respect, I hope you know that."

"They are!"

"Oh my god, you are insane."

"Have you tried—"

"Have I eaten mud? No. Of course not. Doesn't mean I believe it tastes great."

"How are the two even comparable?"

"How are they not?"

.

It would've been the perfect time to air his grievances. It really would, honestly. Wanda was already tearing up, completely shocked and betrayed by the news, in a very vulnerable state of mind — it would take only a few well-placed words to taint all her memories of Steve Rogers.

Like always, however, Tony allowed the moment to pass without a single bad word about the man — keeping his opinions to himself and her memories just as they had always been. It was just as well, really. To dig up old wounds would pain him way more than it ever would her — better to let things be.

To be honest, Steve was doing a fine job of tarnishing his legacy on his own account. His latest decision was simply another terrible one in an endless line of fuck-ups, although Tony had to admit to being surprised by this one, maybe more than he had ever been with the others.

For Steve to drop everything and everyone he fought so hard to protect only to live his fairytale love life in another timeline, well, that was fucking surprising, yeah. Christ, so goddamn irresponsible, as well.

A child's dream. A misplaced wish. Something he should've gotten over years ago. A life he had no right to claim now, in the middle of the clean-up, as the Avengers tried to put their pieces back together.

Peggy had done just fine without Captain America in her life.

And now Sam was supposed to take over the shield, the mantle, while Steve rotted away at the Compound?

Fuck.

Another mess in the pile of shit stinking up the planet.

The worst thing, though, was that Tony would've been alright. He would've been okay with the news had he been alone in his house, with no one else to have feelings and shit. Surprised? Yes. Disturbed? Of course. Dumbfounded and frustrated? Obviously. But okay.

Having to witness Wanda's meltdown was another story entirely.

He had not signed up to be anyone else's support person, Tony uncharitably thought, ignoring his hypocrisy and the fact that he had been the one to practically drag her to the cabin.

As he looked at her, wondering what he should do about the crying woman in his living room, it dawned on him that underneath his feelings about Steve's decision and the discomfort of having vulnerabilities displayed so openly, Tony actually felt sorry for Wanda.

Deeply, truly sorry for what she was going through.

In his mind, she didn't deserve to lose another important person in her life — not after losing so many. That most of those losses were Tony's personal fault only served to deepen his sorrows.

Hadn't that been the reason Tony had dragged her to the cabin in the first place? Because he owed Wanda and all the people she had lost to protect her at all costs? Because her life was a shitshow directed by Stark Industries? Because there was only so much a twenty-something could lose before they snapped, and Wanda deserved better than that?

And Steve knew that.

Fucking Steve Rogers knew that Wanda saw him as some weird kind of brotherly/parental figure, and he still went through with his selfish plans despite it. And as always, it was up to Tony to clean up the mess he left behind with his bouts of stupid decisions.

Another wave of anger coursed through Tony's body even as he forced a deep breath in and out, relaxing his tight shoulders as he exhaled.

That was the moment Wanda appeared to break down completely, bursting in tears right there and then, unable to hold back any longer. She broke down in tears and Tony snapped out of his thoughts, realising where his priorities had to be at the moment.

He knew very little of comforting techniques, though, so he did the only thing that seemed right in that goddamn awkward situation and slid closer to her, visibly offering his shoulder to her as he did so.

It was far from his best move — a terrible reassurance, he was aware — and when she did nothing at first, he almost moved away. Only just as the doubts were getting the best of Tony, Wanda closed the distance between them and hugged his arm as if her life depended on it, hiding her face between his collarbone and his neck.

A full invasion of his personal space.

Instead of the soft touch he had been expecting, Wanda clung to him in a way that spoke of levels of intimacy they never got close to having. He gave a little and she took it all.

His space, his arm, his neck, his private bubble, his careful plan, his calculated decision — Wanda ran past the fences with barely a look at the damage left behind.

In fact, it was the first time Tony was giving physical comfort to another person in this way in a long time.

It should bother him way more than it was — it really should. His mind should be screaming in protest at the situation, already coming up with twelve different ways for him to slide out of the embrace and walk out the door.

It didn't, though.

No.

Wanda touched him, and there was only silence.

.

Tony sighed. "Remind me again why we're doing this?"

"It will be fun!" Peter assured with the type of certainty that he had no business having, as he had, indeed, no way of knowing if it would be any sort of fun whatsoever.

Wanda met his eyes behind Peter's shoulders. His incredulity was mirrored in her face, and it became clear that she too had no expectations of this horrible idea turning out to be a pleasant experience.

Neither of them said anything, though. Not a single word of discouragement, despite having plenty of time to do so.

No. They met eyes, shared their reticence, but grabbed their backpacks and stepped out of the house, the sun immediately hitting them in the face.

It was a terrible idea. Tony never enjoyed hiking — had never considered himself to be the nature sort of man. Camping, climbing shit, going deep into the woods to connect with the trees or whatever, had never seemed attractive enough to risk the mosquito bites and the bears and the rocks and the fucking nature.

But Peter.

Peter fucking Parker wanted to go hiking, and so there they were, about to embark on a long-ass journey to get to the other side of the lake. Which for sure was just the same as this side of the lake, in Tony's opinion.

Not that Peter asked or anything.

The kid was bursting with excitement and unrestrained joy, barely being able to remain in place for more than a few seconds, far too eager to get going, and that was more than enough to keep Tony's mouth closed.

It wasn't as though they had lots to do, anyway.

Between him and Wanda, they had a good chance of keeping Peter out of most possible dangerous situations, so it was also a fairly harmless outing.

"If this turns out to be a long-ass hike, you're carrying me the rest of the way, Spider-Boy," Tony half-joked, closing the door behind him. "Let's go."

.

It started one random night.

Tony had never bothered to make his rooms unavailable for others. There were only the three of them in the house, and no one ever made any attempts at getting inside his rooms, so the matter never even crossed his mind.

Until one day, when in the middle of the night, at four twenty-seven, Fri announced that Wanda was walking into his room with two cups of something in her hands. It took Tony so much by surprise that he was still in his bed, holding his StarkPad in his lap when Wanda walked in as if she owned the place.

"Here," she offered, putting a mug full of tea on top of his bedside table while keeping another one in her hands, sitting at the end of his bed without another word.

Tony blinked, wondering if this was some kind of weird dream.

"What is it?" He asked, releasing his StarkPad and grabbing the mug in a single move, locked in a weird hazy state where none of it felt real.

"Tea," she explained, taking a small sip. "Chamomile and lavender, to be precise. I mixed it. It's good to relax. F.R.I.D.A.Y. said you were still awake, so I thought you might appreciate a cup."

Well, he had never forbidden Fri from telling the others about him. In his defense, he never thought anyone would bother to ask.

So, yeah, he took a sip from the damn tea and fuck it if it wasn't delicious. Not even a little bit sweet, the hot liquid was floral and calming all without being cloying and disgusting like the vanilla teas Pepper used to drink in bed.

Tony hummed in appreciation, taking another sip. "You should sell this."

"I don't think so," she said, but had a small smile tugging at her lips. "It may not be big in America, but in Sokovia people drank tons of tea every day. This would hardly impress someone who lived there."

"Well, good thing you're in America now. We're easily impressed by small shit."

"That's good to know."

Tony carried on drinking his tea in silence, enjoying the rare moment of peace to relax against the headboard of the bed and not think about anything else. It had been a good while since he had allowed himself to do that — to simply be.

His floating head-space seemed to stretch for an eternity. Only when his mug got empty and his whole body felt warm, did Wanda ask in a calm voice.

"Do you often have problems sleeping?" She asked, and Tony could do little else but to sigh, amused.

He kept his eyes closed as he answered, unwilling to break the moment. "You could say that, yes."

"Do you feel you could sleep now?" She asked again, and he felt soft fingers prying the empty mug from his hands. This time, her voice came from much closer, yet still so soft and quiet, barely more than a whisper.

"Perhaps," he admitted, vaguely aware that it wasn't appropriated for him to fall asleep in his bed, shirtless, while Wanda was still hovering next to his bed. It was almost enough to get him to open his eyes, but then Wanda started to sing.

Well, more like hum a tune under her breath. Some kind of weird lullaby that Tony had never heard before, but it sounded great coming from her lips.

Soothing.

Tony could no longer feel the light coming from behind his closed lids, so he guessed that Fri took the hint to turn them off when Wanda began to sing.

And after some time, Tony had no clue when, as he was thinking about the song and the lights and the tea and the soft bed beneath him and the idea of sleep, his mind shut down.

He went to sleep just like that, without taking anything or drowning in liquor or staying awake long enough to tire even his mind. He went to sleep and woke up many hours later, feeling well-rested for the first time in Christ's knew how long.

It was incredible. Addictive in a way only a person who had been deprived of sleep could ever fully understand.

And that's how she started to randomly wander into his bedroom.

Tony should've known better.

He really should have.

.

Peter all but shoved the StarkPad into his hands, eager to show him whatever it was that he had come up with. Instinctively, Tony held it so it wouldn't fall to the floor.

"You have to see this!" Peter grinned, pointing to the screen like a maniac. Excitement etched into every line of his face.

That was the moment, though, that Tony realised he had been handed something by someone and he had taken it. Without even pausing to think about it, he had grabbed the StarkPad from Peter's stretched out hands, more curious about whatever it was that his protogeé was working on than worried about his own rules.

He just grabbed it.

In a flash, all the times his mom had handed him things came back with a vengeance. The memories drowned him — the thousand times they had worked together in the kitchen, or putting together last-minute arrangements for her charity parties, or carefully cleaning and rearranging her precious jewelry collection…

Countless hours spent being handed and handing things, passing stuff from hand to hand, basking in the precious moments of having his mother full and undivided attention, soaking in the only kind of love that he had ever received as a child.

Intimate.

It became so intimate for him. Such a guarded memory. An untainted part of his otherwise crappy childhood that he fought hard to preserve, even as the years passed and buckets full of trauma threatened to consume each corner of his mind, erasing all else in its path.

Somehow, however, his instinctive response to step back, to cross his arms, to wave the object away and reject whatever it was that was being handed to him, only kicked in when the StarkPad was already in his grasp. Peter's excitement, his wide smile and bright eyes, registered as more important than anything else in the precious few seconds he had had to process the situation.

And there he was — looking down at the screen, seeing Peter's new project glowing at him, a glorious mess of equations and compounds and titanium and genius engineering.

He had been silent for too long. Peter's smiling was fading away, a worried look replacing his previous elation, and that just wouldn't do.

So, with an effort that Tony hadn't known he possessed, he pushed the memories of his mother away, choosing to stay in the present instead of wallowing in the past. Consciously placing his priorities elsewhere. Allowing the vivid images to fade away, perhaps lost forever, only to give his attention to Peter.

Peter, who unlike his mother, was alive and breathing. Who he could still touch and hand things and feel next to him. Who needed him and his attention and deserved better than to compete with his stupid, unresolved childhood traumas.

"This doesn't look bad," Tony joked, rolling down the screen to see the whole thing. "Maybe there's a chance for you still, kid."

And just like that, in a blink of an eye, happiness replaced nervousness, as it should, and Peter smiled again.

"You think?" He breathed out, almost jumping in place trying to contain his buzz. "I mean, it's just a prototype, really. I still need your help to figure out some details, to be honest, and I'm almost certain my math isn't one hundred per cent correct in some parts, and, yeah, like, maybe you should just look at the—"

"Hey, buddy, breathe. That's more like it. Alright," Tony said, lifting his eyes and looking at Peter. "This is great. Of course, I'll help you with whatever you need, but I don't see anything wrong yet." He paused. "I didn't know you were working on something for my suit, though."

Peter blushed a bit, which was surprising in itself. "Yeah. It came to me — the idea. I know that you have spent years perfecting the armor, and it's not like it's not amazing already, but I thought it might be nice to add some non-lethal aspects to it."

It would be nice.

Perhaps, in a faraway future, Spider-Man and Iron-Man might fight together and Tony would just catch criminals and leave them tied up for the police, doing nothing more than just his part for once, leaving the judgement and sentence to others.

"I would like that," Tony admitted, smiling back at Peter to show how much he appreciated the idea. "It will be the first part of my suit that I didn't build myself."

Peter quickly backtracked. "I wouldn't-Of course you can still be the—"

"Relax, Pete. It wasn't a complaint," Tony explained. "How nice will it be to have Spider-Man make me something? If I'm lucky, you'll even sign the metal for me — a one of a kind souvenir, hun?"

"Me?" Peter pointed at his own chest, confused. "Would you want that? For real?"

And he seemed so astonished, so very stunned by the possibility of his signature having any value whatsoever, that now Tony had to have it.

"Yep," he confirmed, sending the work from the StarkPad to his work table with a couple of moves, ready to get to it. "Let's do this, kid."

Tony's fingers gripped the StarkPad even tighter.

"Wait-now?"

"No time like the present, Peter! Stop lazing around! We have work to do!"

And yeah, there it was: the glowing, the happiness.

The fucking present, so much more satisfying than any of Tony's dark-tinged memories of a lost life.

.

It was a burger. It was supposed to be a burger — at least that's what she said.

It did not look appetizing whatsoever.

"I'm not eating this," Tony informed, looking Wanda dead in the eyes to express just how serious he was.

When she responded by rolling her own eyes, Tony realised his attempt at seriousness had miserably failed.

"Take one bite," she tried to reason with him, as though he was being impossible and frankly? It was crazy.

"No way." Tony shook his head, pushing the plate away. "Not this vegan shit."

"It's not shit; I promise! Try it."

"No. Nope. No way. I have principles."

"Principles? What does that even mean?"

"It means that I refuse to eat a leafy thing that's trying to be a meaty thing."

Wanda stopped in her tracks. "Oh my God, did you seriously just say that?"

Yup, Tony had indeed just said that. Why, though, he had no idea. It sounded much better in his head than it had out loud.

"Whatever," he carried on, neither denying nor confirming. Better to just move on from this entire conversation. "I have to go. Work to do and all that crap."

As soon as he moved to get up from his chair, however, Wanda's hand moved like a snake, quickly grabbing his arm and keeping him in place.

"Wait! Don't go," she said, and her eyes flashed with some weird emotion behind them. It looked suspiciously like desperation, and it was enough to freeze Tony in place. "I'll make you something else, okay? What would you like? I don't know how to cook a lot of dishes with meat- I mean, before all that, well, before my parents, I did, but then I didn't and I can't remember much of that—"

And she carried on rambling about her parents and meat and dishes and the things she could try to cook for Tony, all while he stared in surprise, dumbfounded by her sudden display of nerves in plain sight.

It wasn't something he had ever seen before. Not with Wanda — not like this.

There she was, offering to cook him shit she didn't even eat, and for what? He had never asked her to do this. To feed him, to help him, to serve him, as though she needed to.

It raised some red flags in his mind.

"Hey!" He cut her off mid-sentence. Enough was enough. She froze, blinking rapidly as his voice brought her back to the present. "Wanda. Let me make something very clear, alright? I don't need to be fed or catered to, okay? I'm capable of fending for myself."

"I'm aware," Wanda said, and for Christ's sake, she sounded confused. "I never said that."

"Well, act like it, girl. Quit freaking out about my eating."

She shook her head. "I'm not. I mean, I am a little, I suppose," she started, running her hands through her hair in a manner Tony was starting to associate with a nervous response. "It's not because I believe you to be incapable of fending for yourself, however. Although I've seen your attempts at cooking and it's not good. I just…" She stopped and looked away. "I'm sorry, it's nothing."

Wow, talk about bad performance.

"Yeah, Quick-Fingers, if you want me to believe you, you're gonna have to do better than that," Tony said, then wondered why he didn't take the chance to make his escape. She was giving him a perfect way out of that awkward conversation, so why was Tony choosing to press the subject?

Did he even care about whatever it was that bothered her so much, anyway?

"I…," she began, then stopped. Inhaled, ran her hand across her hair again. Tony saw the exact moment her shoulders dropped and she decided to just spit it out. "It gets lonely in this house, that's all. I… ever since Sokovia and Pietro I… Being completely by myself is new to me. And I get that you are a busy man, and Peter needs his personal space, and the lab is not a place I'm much needed at, but I thought that this—" she mentioned to the space surrounding them. "—the kitchen, well, I could do this."

And just as the words processed, and their meaning settled as another heavy weight in Tony's already overcrowded mind, it became clear that yes, he did care about it.

Fuck it, Tony cared.

Wanda looked ready to be ridiculed by her frankness and for Heaven's sake, it was Tony's fault that she was there in the first place, and not at the Compound with the others, and shit. Tony's mouth opened before he even realised what he was about to say.

"That's not true," he said, then backtracked when he saw her reaction. "About the lab, I mean. A lot of the time we're just tinkering with some tech or throwing ideas around, or just passing time." He shrugged, and it was all awkwardness. "Just show up. It's fine."

It was _not_ fine.

Inviting people to his private lab was not fine. Telling her to just show up was not fine. Giving this sort of access to someone besides Peter was not fine. Giving up on his hiding place was not fine.

None of it was fine.

And yet…

The words remained. He took none back, and instead, allowed the offer to hang in the air as Wanda stared at him in disbelief, probably as shocked as he was with the sudden generosity.

In the end, after many, many horrible minutes of silence, she nodded.

"Okay," Wanda agreed, her voice so goddamn tentative still. "I will. Thank you."

Tony was about to dispel the wholesome moment with a terrible comeback, but then Wanda went and smiled. A fucking bright and hopeful smile. The kind that had become so rare these days after, well, everything, and it surprised him enough to silence him.

Wanda Maximoff silenced Tony Stark in his own house with a small smile.

A first for him, certainly.

It should've been a clear warning that he was losing it.

It really should've been.

.

"Give me Peter, Fri," Tony ordered absentmindedly as he worked, then paused for a second before adding. "And Wanda, too."

"To your left, boss," Friday answered, and two screens popped up to his left showing the other two integrants of the cabin. Peter, spread over his bed, reading something in his StarkPad, and Wanda, cooking what looked to be the foulest soup Tony had ever laid eyes on.

They were fine. Safe.

It was enough.

For now, at least, it was enough to alleviate his worries.

"Tell me if anything changes," he said, knowing his A.I understood exactly what he was asking for. If they needed him, Tony would know.

.

"No." Tony shook his head. "Absolutely not."

"C'mon," Peter pleaded, doing that thing with his eyes that Tony still couldn't quite resist. "It will be fun."

Still. Tony clung to a slither of sanity and tried to keep his eyes anywhere other than near that dangerous face.

"Pete. Stop. You always say that — the words lost their meaning by now, buddy."

Wanda hummed in agreement, although she looked way less bothered by the idea than Tony thought was appropriate given the suggestion. "That's true. You have to stop being so liberal with the word 'fun', Peter."

"It's not my fault you're both sour people with no sense of humor," Peter said, shrugging and attempting to roll his eyes at the same time, with little to no success. That's alright. No one commented on that. They were sensible people.

So very sensible.

"Yeah, no." Tony got up from the couch and went to fill his cup of coffee once again, a deep, sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach warning him that he was losing the battle, despite his better efforts. "My sense of humor is perfectly fine. Incredible, some people might say. Legendary, even."

"No one would say that," Wanda fake-whispered.

Peter snorted a laugh and that was it.

"Watch it, Spider-Boy," Tony warned, keeping his eyes on the half-filled cup in his hands. "I can still find Lizard-Man somewhere, you know?"

"That's a stupid name," Peter complained. "And it's Spider-Man. Thank you."

"How can Spider-Man be okay and Lizard-Man be stupid? That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever."

Peter shrugged. "Well, you're, like, Russian, or something. You wouldn't understand."

Tony's bottom lip started to curl inward with the effort to keep himself from bursting into laughter, and he tightened his grip on the cup, doing his best to prevent it from shaking and spilling the precious hot liquid.

Damn, Peter. Russian, really?

"I'm not even from Russia," Wanda corrected, shaking her head with an air of pretend-disapprovement. "What are Americans taught in geography class?"

"Whatever. It's the same thing."

"What? No, it isn't. Is America the same country as Colombia?"

"Of course not."

"Then you're an idiot."

"I am not. I went to a high-performance school, actually."

"Oh, did you? Tell me more about your genius. Please."

"You're just jealous 'cause Russian school wasn't as cool as ours."

"I'm from Sokovia. That's not the same as Russia."

Peter made a gesture of indifference. "I wouldn't know."

.

"Tony, there's twelve coffee machines in this house," Peter said. "I know because I counted them. Twelve, Tony. Not one, not ten — twelve."

"Well, I only use three, so…" Tony shrugged. "Not so bad, see?"

"You use the one on your bedside table. To drink coffee while you're still half asleep."

"Isn't that the whole point of caffeine anyway, to wake you up?"

"Only if you get any sleep in the first place."

"I have no clue what you could possibly mean with that, Underoos. I sleep. A whole bunch of hours and everything."

Peter pressed his mouth into a fine line. "Don't change the subject. Why do you have twelve coffee machines?"

"I'm an engineer, honey. A bored engineer, at that. Be thankful it was a coffee machine and not a speaking toaster, or something."

"Are you guys gonna eat it or not?" Wanda interrupted, pointing at the plates in front of them. Hers was suspiciously empty — Tony suspected she had taken the opportunity to throw the entire thing in the trash while they had been arguing with each other. He didn't blame her, just wished he had thought of it first.

"I ate it! It's not my fault healthy food is disgusting," Tony protested, shoving the half-eaten plate away from him.

"He did try two pieces of it," Peter agreed.

Wanda shook her head. "I'm living with two toddlers."

"I resent that," Tony said, already walking to the fridge to pick something better to eat. "I'm at least a teenager. An old kid. No younger than eleven."

This time, Peter hesitated. "Eleven sounds pretty old, Tony. I was a pretty responsible kid at eleven. Like, doing my own bed and everything."

"Okay. Eight," Tony allowed. "Eight and not a second younger."

Peter grinned at Wanda. "Eight," he repeated, nodding his head. "I would give us eight."

"I want to move out," Wanda deadpanned, although she grabbed Tony's plate and started to eat the weird non-omelette.

.

Rhodey sighed, managing to convey all of his frustration ever through the screen.

"Man, you need to get back into the world. What do you plan to do? Spend the rest of your life locked up in this house with two teenagers?" He asked, demanded, and Tony barely managed to hold back the urge to flinch.

Teenagers.

Fuck.

They weren't teenagers, of course, but it didn't change the fact that Rhodey was right. To them — to men their age — Peter and Wanda should be no more than teenagers. Kids. Children learning how to one day become adults.

"Yep," Tony replied, ignoring the rest and answering the first part only. "I'm good where I am. Saw enough of the world — of the fucking galaxy, really — to last me a lifetime. Here seems good."

"I'm not saying you should go back to your old life, Tony," Rhodey said, and it's fucked up that Tony didn't even know which old life his best friend was talking about. "But it's not healthy what you're doing here, either."

"I'm not doing anything. I'm living my life. Doing a rather excellent job of it, actually," Tony corrected, keeping it light. "I even earned brownie points with Pepper the other day. Being productive and all that."

"Don't do this, Tones. You can't do this to yourself." Rhodey shook his head. "What about them? Peter and Wanda?"

Tony smiled, all teeth and no humor. "They are fine, Platypus. I feed them and everything," he said. "I don't keep them locked in the basement, you know. Lose the long face. I keep my booze there."

Rhodey paused. Waited. "The Avengers—"

"Nope," Tony cut him off, feeling the familiar weight settling on his chest as soon as that word crossed the other man's mouth. "Don't wanna know. I quit. I have nothing to do with them anymore."

"Have you actually quit, Tony? Iron Man?"

"Have you seen a red suit flying around lately?"

"I thought you and Pepper had broken up because you said you would never be done."

"At the time — I don't know if you remember — half the universe was fucking missing."

"And if that happened again tomorrow?"

Tony was done, though. "Then give me a call. Until then, I guess you'll have to make do with getting your orders from whichever nursing home Steve managed to be accepted at."

Rhodey blinked. "You've changed."

And wasn't that the biggest understatement of the century?

"I had to," it's all Tony said, and it was all he had to say about it. He had changed, and for once in his miserable life, he didn't regret that.

Where he was now — he was needed.

Necessary.

.

"Who would've thought, hun? Tony Stark hand-washing dishes," Wanda teased.

Tony didn't laugh, though. "It's a manual task. I'm no stranger to getting my hands dirty, Maximoff. This was just… something I had to be taught to do."

His words landed quite heavily on the room, and Wanda's teasing smile fell from her face to be replaced with a look of concern. "Taught? Aren't we all taught to do all things in life?"

"No," Tony rebutted. "At least I wasn't. Most of the stuff I do, I learned on my own. House chores — washing the fucking dishes? Who would've taught me that? My mother? She never got her hands dirty in her life."

"Isn't it easier that way? To have your robots do this sort of thing for you?"

"Sure. But it's not the same. It wasn't to Pepper, at least." Tony inhaled deeply and tried his best not to get caught up in memories. "When she came to live here… We had time. Too much time, really. It didn't make sense to delegate tasks."

"Five years is a long time," Wanda agreed, only they weren't talking about the same thing.

"Two," he corrected, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them. Unbidden. "She only stayed here — with me — for the first two years. Plenty of time to learn how to clean some plates, however."

Wanda hesitated, as if she wanted to speak, to poke and prod, but was afraid of his response. And it was fair enough, only she had already got him talking about it in the first place, so she might as well ask her damn questions and be done with it.

"Spit it out, Funny-Hands. I'm not getting any younger here."

That got a smile out of her. "Neither am I. Very well, then. What happened? As I understand it, you and Virginia had been together for many years."

Tony shrugged. "She has been working for me for decades now — that's true. Relationship wise, though… It wasn't so easy. I was never a relationship person to begin with, and Pepper knew far too much about my bullshit years to fall for any of my crap. In the end, we would've never worked out. Every time I got called out, every time I put the suit on, she wanted to leave."

"I'm sorry," Wanda said.

"Not your fault. It's just how things are, I suppose."

"I don't think I could ever be with someone who didn't understand-who wasn't a part—" Wanda struggled for words to explain a feeling that Tony knew oh too well.

"Someone who had never lived through the shit that it takes to become an Avenger," he completed for her, having had enough time to come up with the words to describe it.

"Yes. This," she said, sending a grateful smile his way. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, kid. Not like I'm doing you any favors."

"You gave me a place to stay. You saved my life — more than once. I have plenty to thank you for, have I not?"

"No," Tony said with certainty. "Don't. This is the least I could do. Nothing compared to what happened to you."

"My past, it's my past, Anthony. I cannot change it and neither can you, although I tried very hard to do so for many years. I've allowed it to rest where it belongs — in the past. I can only go forward from now on."

"Wow. Ten out of ten for the optimism there. Really impressive and all that. Not sure I believe it, though — you'll have to forgive my reticence."

Wanda rose an unimpressed brow. "Are you always this deflective when uncomfortable?"

"Pretty much," he agreed. "It's a talent."

"If you say so," she said, not sounding a bit convinced. She allowed it to stand, though, and only carried on accepting the dripping wet plates and cups and forks and knives, taking her time to carefully dry each one of them. When Tony had convinced himself that the heart-to-heart had peacefully ended, she added, "It's possible. You do know that, right?"

"What?" Tony asked, almost regretting the curiosity when her eyes got impossibly sharper.

"To move on," Wanda explained, and for a moment her hand wrapped around his wrist instead of around the glass in his hand, squeezing lightly in compass with her words. "To heal."

He had no answers, no questions, no amount of faith left to give her at that moment, and so, doing the only thing he could possibly do in such a situation, Tony nodded, letting her know that he heard her. That her words had reached him.

Tony nodded and stayed put for the long moment it took her to be satisfied with his responding expression, with whatever she was searching in his eyes. When she released his arm, taking the glass as if that had been her intention all along, Tony went back to scrubbing without a word of comment.

He had said enough.

.

Peter surprised him one Tuesday afternoon when F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed Rhodey was calling him. Again. It was perhaps his fourth call of the day.

"Didn't Colonel Rhodes sort of…," he blurted out, stopping when the words escaped him. "... give your suit to the army?"

"Well, not exactly the army—"

"Still."

"Still," Tony conceded after a pause. Peter wasn't wrong — he just wasn't right either. "Rhodey gets a pass, though. He earned it — trust me. To be fair, at the time I probably would've done the same thing he did if he were in my shoes. Wait. No, I wouldn't, but that's why he's the responsible one and I'm, well, me."

Peter crossed his arms over his chest. "He shouldn't have—"

This time, it was Tony who cut him off. "You don't know the whole story," he said as gently as he could. "This whole 'being offended on my behalf' thing is sweet and all, but Rhodey was there. I was dying, and not really saying anything to anyone, and acting like a total lunatic for no apparent reason. With my suits… I could've been dangerous. I was dangerous, actually."

Wanda spoke for the first time, then. "Why didn't you say anything?"

Tony sort of shrugged, knowing his reasons weren't the easiest thing to comprehend. "What would I have said? Hey, guys, I'm dying? There was nothing they could've done, besides maybe cry. I'm definitely worth a few good rounds of crying — I hope. Not worth the hassle, though, in the end."

"Did you not care that you would die?"

"Kid, did you not read the papers? No one who doesn't care makes such an idiot out of themselves as I did. Of course I cared. Tried everything I could to fix it, and when I realised there was nothing… I crashed. There was a party that, Christ… Rhodey for sure deserves a pass."

"That's when SHIELD came in?"

"Yep. Natasha and Fury, God's least favorite children," Tony joked, then felt his muscle tense up when he remembered that Natasha wasn't even alive anymore. The pain was sharp and sudden, and it almost stole all his breath. He shook his head and carried on, willing himself to not think about it. Later, he thought. Not now. "Yeah. They showed up with my father's work — that they stole in the first place, I would like to make clear."

From their faces, Tony could tell that they both had realised where his mind had wandered to after his slip, but thankfully, no one said a word about it. Instead, they carried on the conversation as if he had never mentioned her name at all.

"It's that when the Avengers became a thing?"

"Not even close. I was a drunken mess, kid, remember? I was deemed unqualified for the job, actually. Not stable enough to be part of the club. Narcissistic and all." Not that Tony had been upset about it. Of course not. "The band got together when Loki came. Things got out of control and SHIELD had no idea how to handle the mess they created with the Tesseract. As usual, they played the game without knowing the rules. Almost cost us our planet, too."

"Why did you accept, then?"

"What was the option? Leaving earth to be ruled by Thor's adopted mess of a brother? I don't think so. I'm not really fond of any sort of monarchy, to be honest. Too much self-importance, and that's coming from me. Also, he had a horned helmet — there was no way that guy was ruling our planet wearing that."

"I remember watching you all on the television," Wanda admitted. "It felt very surreal to watch aliens popping out of a hole from space."

"I thought you guys were the best," Peter said, grinning. "Seriously. Superheros flying around New York, saving the day? I felt like I was living inside a comic book."

"That's 'cause you were what? Five?" Tony deadpanned.

"Actually, I was—"

Tony interrupted. "Don't tell me. I don't wanna know. God, I'm getting too old for this."

"Don't be dramatic."

"Have you met me? That's my middle name. Leave me alone."

Wanda rolled her eyes. "Guys. And then what? You started to work together — the Avengers, I mean."

"Sure," Tony shrugged. "Guess almost dying together makes people sort of bond faster than usual. Still wasn't all butterflies and cuddles as the press made it seem. Steve had just come out of his Capsicle phase, and he wasn't adjusting as well to the present as SHIELD had expected him to. The whole team was just a bunch of complicated people pushed together in the worst way possible, to be fair."

"Why not leave? Hadn't they said you weren't qualified in the first place?"

"Yep. Coulson died, Clint was recovering, there was a shit-ton to rebuild around New York, and also the whole 'we are not alone in the universe' stuff kept us together. We moved to the tower and it made sense."

"Your tower," Peter corrected, as though Tony wasn't aware. "You changed the name after Loki."

"What can I say? I'm a glorified landlord," Tony tried to joke, only it came out flat. There was nothing funny about the disaster that had been the Avengers — and to think of how much effort Tony had put while trying to make things work only served to depress him. The team could've been amazing — he had wanted so fucking much to be a part of a good initiative for once, and where had that left him?

"That's fucked up, though," Peter said, echoing his thoughts. "With Germany and everything. How could they do this when you saved their lives so many times?"

Wanda tensed up. "You don't know what you're talking about," she hissed.

"I don't? Why? 'Cause you fought for the wrong side?"

"You have no idea—"

"She's right," Tony said, hoping to avoid a possible messy situation. And she was right — there was that, too. "Steve and the others were doing what they thought was best for them and everyone else. And that's what we were doing as well. It's not their fault. They didn't own me anything for the past, Pete."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it's the truth, simple as that. The Accords were necessary, I still believe that. It doesn't mean that I was entirely right, though."

His words fell on deaf ears, however, because Peter remained with that familiar stubborn tilt to his chin that meant he wasn't about to be reasonable about the subject. Tony tried to pretend it didn't warm him to see someone defending him so openly and insistently.

"Still," Peter insisted, unwilling to listen. "To try to kill you? That was not okay."

"We never," Wanda said. "We fought, yes. You were there, though. You know we weren't trying to kill anyone. None of us was fighting to kill."

"I wasn't talking about Germany," Peter said darkly and Tony's heart froze in place.

He could not be talking about Siberia. No way.

"What are you talking about, then?" Wanda asked, her eyes shifting from Tony to Peter, searching for answers that Tony could see on the tip of Peter's tongue.

He said nothing. It was the best he could do. His legs wanted to carry him away from this conversation and its sudden unpleasant turn. Still, he stayed. Silent, but there nonetheless.

"Siberia." Peter spat the word like a curse.

"What happened in Siberia?"

"Captain Rogers and Barnes left Tony alone in the ice to die," he said, each word sharp and so fucking heavy. Accusation dripped from every letter. Peter was the judge, and he had sentenced them to a thousand years of fire.

Tony had done the same, many years ago. He would be lying if he said it didn't feel satisfying to hear someone else do the same — with the same anger, the same weight. Peter was no mediator, no reasonable person hoping to understand both sides, and Tony almost wanted to smile. To laugh, to thank him for being the person of blind faith that Tony had never had in his life before.

Wanda gasped. "They wouldn't!" She denied, turning to Tony for a response. A quick explanation. Something that would clear Rogers' reputation.

Unfortunately, Tony had nothing of the sort. "To be fair, I was giving just as much as I was taking," he said, not lying but bending the truth a bit to help her. It had happened a long time ago — he could almost afford to be this generous.

"Were you, though?" Wanda pressed, and her eyes narrowed in concentration. She didn't sound like she believed him.

Tony shrugged. "Close enough."

"Close enough is not the same thing, Tony! Did you or did you not try to kill them as well?"

"Why does it matter?"

"'Cause, it does! How can you ask this? Tell me!" And she was desperate. "What happened?"

And Tony snapped. "Barnes killed my parents. Rogers knew about it. They knew and they never said anything," he hissed or growled or whatever. The words were acid in his mouth. "They knew. He killed them. Choked my mom to death inside her car. Shot my father in front of her. Murdered them. We fought."

"And Steve buried his shield in your arc-reactor," Peter added, just as mad. "That's how it ended."

"But no," Tony answered the question, eyes glued to Wanda's. "I didn't go for the kill. I could have. At the time, I told myself that I did try to end it — with Barnes. That I would've killed him if I could have. I had opportunities, though. Missiles and lasers and blasters and a lot of lethal functions of the suit that I never used."

Wanda frowned. She looked lost. "And Steve still…?"

"He did what he had to do. Protected his friend."

"You were his friend."

"I thought so, too. Too bad we were wrong."

"I can't- He wouldn't-How did he do that when- And he left you there to die? Alone?"

"He probably knew someone would show up," Tony said, knowing that hadn't been the case.

"How could he have known that?" Peter argued. "That's ridiculous. You could've died. It was a stroke of luck. He should've never left you there on your own — should've never harmed you in the first place. Not like that. Not on the arc-reactor that kept you alive."

"It did force me to improve it. To fix it, really. To have the surgery."

"It wasn't his place to do that! To put you in that position! To leave you alone in the cold! It's attempted murder, it's what it is. We don't do that to criminals — how could he do that to someone he called a friend?"

"In hindsight, Steve never called me his friend. I assumed." And how pathetic was that?

"I can't believe it," Wanda whispered, her eyes wide and lost. "I can't believe he would do that. I can't. That's not- I just-" She stopped, got up and fisted her hands. "I have to-excuse me."

And she left.

Walked out of the room in a hurry, her movements stiff and controlled, her back tight with tension, her hands still fisted and white.

Tony could only turn to Peter and ask the question burning in the back of his mind. "Why did you do that?"

Peter never hesitated. "She needed to know," he said, which was hardly an explanation and yet… at the same time, it couldn't have been more clear.

Tony swallowed and pretended once again that Peter's actions weren't everything he had once expected from Rhodey. From Pepper.

From anyone.

.

Tony sighed. Again. Postponing things was only serving to make him even more anxious about it, which was precisely the opposite of what he wanted. He had already made up his mind, decided to just rip off the bandage and fucking do it.

He couldn't live in fear of his own creation, his own suits, his own…

Being Iron-Man was who he was, what had saved his life countless times, the thing he turned to when all else failed him, again and again, no matter how many promises he made to quit. To retire. To put the suits away and live a goddamn civilian life.

That was not who he was.

He was Iron-Man just as much as he was Anthony Stark. It took years, but he accepted the fact and all it entailed. Now, however, it was time to prove it — to get back to it.

Months had passed.

He was as ready as he ever would be without the added bottle of alcohol or line of cocaine. And since he didn't do that shit anymore, Tony had only his unreliable self-control and shaky self-confidence to help him get this done.

It was hardly the worst situation he ever faced — far from it, thankfully.

Nevertheless, his hands were still shaking when he raised them to touch the cold alloy. His repaired suit from the battle against Thanos.

Mark LXXV.

His masterpiece.

As close to perfection as Tony could reach at the moment — his favorite out of all his suits, out of every piece of armour he had ever created. His final suit, as it all indicated.

Looking down at his chest, Tony saw the nanoparticle housing unit softly glowing in its place, still empty since he returned from the Compound after the battle. If he had been able to do so, he would've also taken it out that day. Almost had, in fact.

Almost ripped it from his chest.

In the end, Tony was glad he hadn't done it.

Now, though, he needed to get into the suit. It was time. He had to do it. A simple double-tap and he would be incased again — he only had to raise his finger and get it to his chest and he would—

"Boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupted him and Tony tried to pretend he was angry at the disturbance. That it had, indeed, interrupted him. That he had been about to get it done. "Mister Parker is outside."

Of course he was.

Tony sighed for the hundredth time. "Let him in."

The door opened and Peter walked inside with hesitant steps, eyes searching for answers. "Why were the doors closed? You never close them. Did something happen, because I want to kno—"

As soon as his eyes landed on the Iron Man suit, the words died in his lips. Instead, his eyes turned sharp. Too sharp, in Tony's opinion. The kid could be too clever sometimes.

"Are you doing it now?" Was what he asked in place of his previous words, his tone cautious and severe, even though Tony had never once spoken about this or had ever suggested that it was some sort of ceremony.

The energy to come up with an appropriate excuse evaded Tony, so he merely nodded and hoped Peter would understand that there was nothing else to be said.

Never one to disappoint, Peter was quick on the uptake. Going silent as well, he walked until he stood two steps behind Tony, slightly to his right. Close enough that they were sharing the same space, that they could touch if they wished to.

They didn't.

Peter stood there, in silence. Watching Tony with the same intensity as Tony did with the suit, somehow showing his support without adding any pressure to the situation. He simply stood behind Tony and respected the quiet solemnity of the moment.

Tony wanted to pretend that it didn't affect him. That he would've done it regardless of whether he had been alone or not. That Peter being there changed nothing because Tony had already decided to get into the fucking suit.

Still, it was only when Peter arrived that he moved.

"Yeah," Tony finally answered, raising his hand to the cold metal in his chest. "I'm doing it now." And he tapped.

.

As it often did, the need came out of nowhere.

Tony was halfway done with washing his body, doing his best to be careful with his still-healing arm, all eight of his shower-heads turned on high, when the intrusive thoughts began to consume his mind, quickly souring his previous good mood. With absolutely no prompt or reason, Tony's brain started to convince him that Peter was not safe — that none of them was safe.

Wanda wasn't safe, and Tony had promised himself that he was done putting her through life-threatening situations.

It didn't matter, 'cause his cabin could easily be invaded. And by easily, Tony meant nearly impossible, but still… never say never, and all that. It could be done — somehow, it could be done.

And Tony was too busy taking a fucking long shower, luxuriating under the pressurized water, blissfully unaware of the dangers surrounding his home — which was not only his now, once more.

"Fri, start running a perimeter check," he ordered, hands still curled around the bottle of shampoo. "Double-check for weak spots. I want a list of every possible way a person could try to break into the cabin — most likely to least likely."

"Yes, Boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded right away. "Checking the perimeter as we speak. My sensors aren't picking up any unusual activity, Boss. Is there a reason to believe we might be under attack?"

"Isn't there always a reason?"

"I don't believe so, Boss."

"Better safe than sorry," Tony said darkly, putting the unopened bottle back in place and stepping out of his shower. "Give me Peter. And Wanda — give me her, too."

Wordlessly, she complied, putting up two screens to his right.

Tony went to the workshop. He had work to do.

.

"Fuck you, Tony!" Wanda spat. Eyes burning, hands glowing.

And it shouldn't have been enough to draw a reaction from him — it really shouldn't. This was a stupid fight. Tony was more than used to being cursed, to having people scream at him, to being the sort of person who managed to unleash the very worst out of others. So, yeah, no, he shouldn't give a damn that Wanda had reached the end of her rope with him.

Only he did. His body did, at least. His damn treacherous body, which flinched as soon as the words crossed her tight lips, shaking his entire upper body in a way that could never be mistaken for anything other than what it truly was: fear.

And how pathetic was it that Tony — after all this time, after Thanos, after fucking dying a thousand times — still feared Wanda? Still looked at her and saw more than fair skin and reddish locks and searching eyes. Tony still saw destruction.

Complete and utter destruction of everything he ever held dear. Everything he tried so goddamn hard to protect.

Wanda and her fucking cursed powers — her glowing fingers, and bright burning eyes, and the smell of fire and electricity and hunger and… shame. His, not hers.

The memory of her magic coursing through his veins, hot and cold all at once, which should've been impossible and yet somehow wasn't, came forward so strong at that moment that not even forewarning could've prevented Tony from selling himself out.

Tony fucking flinched, and the look of pain meshed with surprise that contorted its way on Wanda's face in response was almost enough to get him to do it once more. He had never wanted her to know. To see it. To realize how much of a coward Tony truly was.

"You…" She stuttered, losing her voice as soon as she began. Tripping over herself. Shocked, really. As she should. "After all this time?"

There was only one possible response to her question, and the truth ought to have been easier to share after his shameful performance, but somehow the 'yes' wouldn't cross Tony's lips no matter how hard he tried.

So he shrugged — a small, self-dismissive gesture. His shoulders barely moved, and his eyes flickered to the left and the room started to gently spin. Twisting and turning. Fucking moving instead of remaining still.

And suddenly, just like that, the air changed. It all happened rather fast, honestly. Tony never even got the chance to turn his head fully, to see the hand moving in his direction — fast and purposeful. He only felt it; tasted it.

Wanda's magic filled the room and the air and the whole house in mere seconds — a true show of power in response to her anger. Her pain. Her surprise. Tony didn't know.

All he knew was the hand suddenly touching his forehead, covering his eyes, moulding itself to his head — a forceful reminder of an event that had never actually happened before. Wanda's hand covered his sight, pressing hard against his skull, keeping him frozen where he was.

Useless and powerless. Again.

A vision started to form in Tony's head — as clear and vivid as he remembered it. However, instead of the horrors he had witnessed the first time, a warm glow surrounded the images, making it almost feel warm.

It was Wanda, standing right in front of him, looking peaceful and calm. She looked at him and there was nothing terrifying about it — quite the opposite, actually. Tony wanted to step closer, and when he tried, he found out he could.

There was no weight, no feeling of dread sticking his feet to the ground. Tony was free to roam around, to step closer, to raise his hand and touch the vision-Wanda standing in front of him. And surprisingly, she too was warm.

And she responded to his touch.

Leaning her cheek into his palm, she smiled. "How's that?" She asked, her eyelids fluttering. "You like it?"

"It's different from the first time, I'll give you that," Tony conceded, dragging his thumb across her soft cheek, amazed at how real it felt. How incredible it felt to touch her and almost hear her pleased thoughts surrounding him in the atmosphere.

At his words, Wanda opened her eyes and shot him an apologetic look. "I'm so very sorry, Tony. You have to know I would take that day back if I could. I would take so many days back... " She paused, then sighed. "I should've said something earlier. It just-it never crossed my mind that you would be afraid of me. I would never want that."

"Not many people managed to mess with my head quite like that," he admitted, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, allowing the touch to linger. "This, though, is so… I don't know how to explain. I didn't know you could do this."

"Me neither," Wanda said, a mischievous smile tugging on the corners of her lips. "I've never done this before, to be honest. Never tried to make this connection so… pleasant? Nice? I really wanted you to see that I'm capable of doing good with my powers too."

Tony's hand dropped. "I knew that. You don't have to prove anything to me."

"I do, though. I do. I have a lot to make up to, but it's okay. I'm ready to make as many amends as I have to."

"I did as much damage as you, Wanda. More, actually. If anything, I'm the one who should be apologizing, we both know that."

"I don't think so." Wanda shook her head. "What happened to me wasn't your fault. I just needed someone to blame, someone to be responsible for what happened to me, and you were a convenient target."

"That's bullshit," Tony said, staring at her in shock. She had to be joking.

"It isn't. I have been reading. Studying," Wanda admitted, her eyes glued to his. Tony could've sworn there was a red glow there. "I read about Afghanistan, and Obadiah, and the fall down following your return from captivity. I know you had nothing to do with the bombs in Sokovia."

Tony sighed. "It's my company. My technology. I should've known. Don't try to paint me as a victim here — I was only lazy and self-absorbed. I got caught in Afghanistan selling explosives, bombs. Don't be naive."

"I'm not. I only realised that the answers weren't as black and white as I expected, that's all. As all this," Wanda said, mentioning to their surroundings as she spoke. "My powers aren't black and white. Every day I learn more about what I can do. Sure, if I wanted to, I could kill you as you stand. Even as we speak, I feel the possibilities in me — I know they are there."

"Well, that's comforting."

"I won't, though. Because I don't want to. Because you mean a lot to me, and hurting you is the last thing I wanna do. You see what I mean?" Wanda stepped closer, begging him to understand her. "We all got the ability to do harm. That we choose every day to do otherwise it's what defines us, what keeps us human. And you, Tony Stark, is still very much a human."

"Doesn't really feel that way most of the time," he admitted, unable to express how much her words meant to him. This whole experience — the chance to feel her in his mind once again without wanting to rip his insides out. It was humbling and amazing.

"I know," Wanda said, placing both her hands in the sides of his head, holding it firmly in her grasp. "I see you, Anthony. It's fine. We've got time now, don't we? It will be nice to take it easy for once."

He exhaled, his head lolling to one side without his permission. His whole body was going lax under her hold, relaxing so completely he could hardly believe he was still standing.

"This feels nice," he mumbled.

"I think so, too," she whispered in his ear, so very close, and tingled went down his entire spine. "Wake up, Tony. Life feels pretty good now, as well."

And just as his mind started to drift, and Tony could feel himself getting sucked out of the vision, he could've sworn he heard the following words being whispered into the void.

"Goodbye, little bird."

.

"Tony… Are those-I mean, they—" Peter stuttered, dumbstruck as he drooled over the dozen suits perfectly displayed behind the glass.

"Spider-Man suits, yes," Tony agreed, torn between being proud of his creations and a touch embarrassed by how much they revealed. "For you, of course."

"They are amazing," Peter said reverently, placing his hands on the glass as if he would be able to touch them. "Holy crap. You designed all of them by yourself?"

"Kind of. Not really," Tony admitted, hoping this wouldn't turn into a fight about boundaries. "They are mostly based on your notes."

Peter turned to him, confusion stamped on his face. "My notes?"

"Your house. I went there after — well, I found your notebook with a bunch of notes and I sort of, well, took them. This is your work."

"You saw that?" Peter cringed. "Most of that was just dreams and too many superhero movies speaking."

Tony shook his head. He knew better than to believe that. "C'mon, Pete. Don't give me that. Hollywood movies aren't based on math — or science, really."

"I was just throwing numbers around."

"My job is to throw numbers around, basically," Tony said, lips curling up in amusement. "You had some solid material there, buddy. I just… had a lot of free time, I suppose." He turned to the suits, remembering the endless days spent bent over his work table. "It did take me a while to make some of your ideas viable. You need so much flexibility and manoeuvrability — it's very different from my suits."

"I can't believe this," Peter whispered under his breath, eyes moving quickly from one suit to the next, taking all the details in, searching for new additions.

"Wanna try one?" Tony asked on a whim, without even stopping to think about what he was saying.

As was the case with most of the time he did that, things quickly spun out of control.

Peter blanched and stepped back from the glass. "No! I mean-I don't-I'm not rea- that's not what I—"

Tony raised his hands in surrender. "Woah, there cowboy. It's alright. It was just a stupid suggestion — forget about it."

Peter breathed in, visibly calming himself down. "Yeah, of course. You're right. I'm sorry," he apologised, smiling in self-depreciation. "Just got overwhelmed by your brilliancy for a moment here. You'll have to forgive me — it's not every day that Tony Stark makes your dreams come true. Literally."

"Careful now, Parker. One could almost say that you were flirting with me there," Tony joked, pointing one finger at Peter in a warning.

Peter, however, didn't laugh. He didn't blush, or denied, or stuttered an apology, or any of the possible responses Tony had been expecting. No. Peter rolled his eyes as if weighed down by a great burden.

"Have been for a while now, yes," he said — deadpanned, really. "Thank you for noticing."

Well, that was new.

Tony's mind came to halt and went into overdrive at the same fucking time, and he secretly wondered if this would be the moment when his brain finally gave up on him and snapped.

"And I think we're done for the day," he ended up saying, rather weakly too, raising a hand to stop the protest he could see coming from a mile away. "It's late; we've been working for ages. Go take a shower, eat something. Better yet, sleep."

Peter closed his mouth, visibly swallowing down his disagreements. He clearly wanted to speak about it, and the conflict was clear in his eyes for the longest of times. Thankfully, he chose to respect Tony's wishes.

"Alright," he said, then paused. "And you?"

"What about me?"

"Will you eat, drink, sleep? Any of it?"

Tony heard the real questions lurking underneath the words loud and clear, and he could've answered them, he supposed, but it's late, and there's a throbbing pain at the back of his skull, and the last thing he wanted was to get sucked into a pointless argument with Peter.

So, instead of explaining why he's sending him away after promising the doors to the workshop would always be open, Tony just shrugged. Casual, barely more than a twitch.

"I've evolved past them," he dismissed, lowering his eyes to his work table and wishing not for the first time that he had harder problems to sink his teeth in. Anything that could hope to truly hold his attention for more than a few, useless minutes.

From his peripheral vision, Tony saw Peter shifting in place. "You know," he started, and his voice sounded different somehow, "I can hear your breathing changing when you're lying." He paused again. "When you're nervous."

Tony sighed, beyond done with the whole day. "So can I," he admitted, knowing better than to pretend with Peter. That was all he would give him, though. It was all he could give. "Goodbye, Peter."

And just like that, there was only Tony, alone in his lab with a bunch of brand-new suits that didn't belong to him, staring at an empty table, wondering how the hell had he managed to fuck everything up once again.

.

"Tell me!" Peter screamed, his voice cracking a bit as the tears pooled in the corner of his eyes.

It was a cruel order.

Every molecule in Tony's body protested against the mere idea. Against the possibility of talking about that day. About those hours. Those endless months and years and a goddamn eternity.

It had been enough to live it, but to have to talk about it? To willingly allow his mind to wander back to a time he spent every waking moment doing his best to forget? To suppress and shove all the way back into the furthest corner possible of his treacherous brain?

How could Peter ask him that?

Did he not know?

"No," Tony refused, his voice nothing more than a light whisper in the wide room.

Peter wasn't about to accept a refusal, however. Not without a fight, at the very least.

And unfortunately for Tony, Peter fought dirty.

"Please," he begged, blinking rapidly to push the tears away. "I need to know, Tony. Please."

And he was shaking.

Peter was crying and shaking and trembling and his cheeks were turning an awful shade of red and there was nothing Tony could do but to crumble against the force of Peter's needs.

Even in this, even about this one subject, Tony couldn't find in himself the strength to resist.

Not when it was Peter.

Not when he was like that.

Begging.

And all of a sudden, Tony found his arms shaking too.

"What do you want me to say?" Tony asked — pleaded.

"What happened in Titan?" Peter supplied straight away, the question ready in his lips before Tony even finished speaking.

As if summoned by their master, the memories rose from the pits of Tony's mind in a flash, coming to the surface with enough force to make any man stumble.

There wasn't any fogginess to them, any distance afforded by time, any disconnection or any of the bullcrap people kept telling Tony to expect. No, there wasn't any of that.

As if he was being transported back in time, in a manner Tony was awfully familiar, the scene assembled itself in his head, perfect in its tragedy.

From there, the words rolled off his tongue with something close to ease.

It was almost as if he was explaining a painting to a blind man — the characters, the landscape, the colours, the sky and the trees. The way everything fell into place to create a complete piece. Only that was not enough — would never be enough.

To understand the painting, to be able to recreate it with absolute perfection, one needed to hear about the sentiments plastered into each stroke of the brush and that meant speaking about feelings.

Those words wouldn't roll off of Tony's tongue.

Instead, they dripped.

Dripped and pooled together and each one cut at his entire mouth and stang with each breath he took.

When he was finished, when he had spoken as much as he could without scratching his throat raw, he looked at Peter and found nothing of what he had been expecting.

Peter looked pained. Not frightened, or disgusted, or angry, or any of the emotions Tony had been expecting — pained. "How could I ever repay you for—"

"Don't say that. Don't ever say that. You don't owe me shit — not now, not ever. Peter…." Tony hoped his eyes betrayed just how serious he actually was.

"You've saved my life so many times," Peter whispered, the words cracked in half.

"You're wrong. I let you down more times than I can count. I'm the one who has to worry about repaying you, Pete, not the other way around."

"That's not true, Tony. You know that's not true."

"It is, though. How can you even say that? Titan alone…" Tony looked away, barely able to get the words out without crumbling into miserable pieces. It still burned so fucking much even thinking about Titan.

"I crawled into the ship!" Peter said. "I did it — not you. I knew what I—"

"You knew nothing," Tony corrected, shaking his head. "You used the suit I gave you to follow us into space and I did nothing. You died because of me. That's what happened."

"Shut up, Tony. Shut up. Just… shut up. Stop twisting everything in your head — you know that's not what happened that day. I remember it perfectly— excuse you. I jumped, I crawled in, I decided to fight. I did that."

"You were just a—"

"A kid?" Peter asked, his voice raising a touch. "Was that what you were going to say? That I was a kid? 'Cause that's bullshit, and we both know that."

"Is it, though? You were a kid."

"I wasn't, and I'm not. I was old enough to fight, old enough to risk my life, old enough to go to Germany, old enough to make my own choices, old enough to take responsibility for my damn actions."

Tony huffed. "You weren't. I should've never gone after you in the first place." He closed his eyes in regret. "Germany was a mistake."

"I agreed, Tony. I agreed," Peter insisted, stepping forward. They were close enough to touch now. Too close, really. "I wanted to go — to help. You didn't kidnap me or some crap like that. Why you keep acting like I'm an invalid?"

"'Cause I should've known better. Because, Peter, my great ideas got you hurt so many times, it's fucking laughable that I'm not locked away in some goddamn prison," Tony said, pissed off now. "Because, in the end, it was my ideas that got you killed. You died, Peter. Fucking disintegrated in my arms. Turned into dust as I held you in my arms!" And Tony was screaming now, completely out of control. "Thanos snapped his fingers and you died in my arms! Isn't that enough?"

"I know!" Peter yelled back, his arms moving everywhere as he spoke. "I was there, Tony! I was the one who died, remember? Or are we forgetting that now? I died. Yes. Thanos killed half the population — someone had to die! It was either me or someone else!"

"Yes! It could've been anyone else! Literally, anyone else. I don't give a shit. It couldn't have been you, though — not you."

Peter half-groaned half-huffed. "And who would you have prefered, Tony? Doctor Strange? Quil? Gamora? You? Would that have been better?"

Tony lost it. "Yes!" He yelled back. "It should've been me. It should've been me, goddamnit. Not you — never you. To watch you die, to hear you beg me to help—" He stopped, swallowed past the lump in his throat. "That was worse than any hundred deaths, Peter. So, yeah, it would've been better. So much better."

"I. Tony." Peter stuttered, staring at him, wide-eyed and mouth dropped open. The air felt heavy and oppressive, and yet, at the same time, like a bubble had formed around them and the words came out of Tony too fast.

Suddenly, he needed to spill it all out or else he would choke on them.

"The second I saw you on that ship, I could feel the clock counting down. The minutes passing as we flew to our deaths — I was sure of it. We had no chances of defeating Thanos — none. To see you there — to have you by my side when I could do nothing to keep you safe? That was worse than any torture I have endured."

Tony spoke, and he couldn't stop. He saw Peter absorbing the words, watched as the tears began to pool on his gorgeous eyes, and nothing seemed to register in his brain. He could only speak and speak, doing his best to blink away his own tears.

"And you chose to be there! To jump in. God — how could you? You should've been on earth — safe. All I wanted when I built you that suit, when I gave you Karen, when— I needed you safe. You had no business being on Titan, going after someone like Thanos."

Peter took another step forward, but Tony could hardly deal with the proximity. He stepped back, putting sore space between them. Not much, not enough to feel enough, just a couple of hesitant steps.

"That snap- I knew it was coming. Could feel it in my fucking bones. I thought it would be me, Peter," Tony admitted. "I wanted it to be me. If anything, I deserved it… When you stumbled, though. When I realised it would be you… not me, but you…"

"Tony," Peter begged, raising his hand to touch him. Tony couldn't bear it, not as he recalled that day. Flinching away, he carried on speaking.

"You begged me that day, too. Begged me to save you. Told me you didn't want to die. You were in my arms becoming dust, Peter." The tears started just then, free-flowing as Tony tried to keep the memory from swallowing him whole. "You died, and I wanted nothing more than to follow you."

.

"Kiss me," Peter said. Pleaded.

It's instinctive — Tony's eyes shifted down and landed on Peter's full lips. He wanted to. God, Tony wanted to crush their mouths together, to kiss Peter until he ran out of breath, to bite and pull and drag. Tony wanted to wreck Peter.

He allowed the impulse to run through his body, to raise every single hair in his body, and then he allowed it to past — breathing past the insane need pulsating all over, gaining control once more, pushing his desire back inside its designated cage before locking the door and hopefully throwing the key away for good.

"Go to sleep, Pete," Tony finally said, praying to deities he didn't believe that the boy would ignore the different register of his voice.

It worked – sort of.

Peter did ignore it – the rasp in his tone, the evident need coloring his words – but he couldn't seem to stop his expression from selling his inner thoughts, and thus, couldn't hide how deep the flat rejection hurt him.

Brown eyes widened, then narrowed, desolation swimming in them, all there, in plain sight.

It's just another shard of metal imbibing itself into Tony's heart, and as he had with the others, he ignored that one as well, knowing his own face gave nothing away. Peter's young, naïve, open in a way that Tony cannot even recall ever being. Peter didn't have decades to perfect endless numbers of masks, with several layers to them.

Between them, there would never be a competition.

Even if he wanted to — even if he were willing to risk it all and give in — at that point in his life, Tony would have to actively try to get rid of his defence mechanisms, to tear them down, one by one, with the mere force of his will. Right then and there? Tony could only be grateful that his fucked-up life had taught him something — this.

Peter would never know, and that's exactly how Tony wanted it.

The kid scrambled back, clearly awkward now that the moment had changed, his early confidence leaving him at once. "I—I. I will—I mean," Peter choked on the words, trying to erase his previous words with an avalanche of new ones. "I'm so—I'm so sorry. I didn't want to—you shouldn't have to—I mean—"

Tony didn't even dare to blink. "It's fine, kid," he said, and unlike Peter, his words are smooth and practised, injected with an appropriate level of casualness to ease the air, to give them a break.

Peter flinched back, though, as if burned by the words, by his posture on the whole situation, and whatever other excuses he had been building up died on his tongue. Instead, he looked furious. Mad beyond mere words, and for a second there, Peter looked murderous — truly capable of insane amounts of violence.

He glared at Tony for a long moment, clearly reining in what the engineer believed to be an impressive show of temper, before turning in his spot and storming out of the room, fisting his hands alongside his body.

"Shut it down, Fri." Tony exhaled, holding it in, waiting for the confirmation.

"Lockdown initiated, Boss," Friday announced. Tony couldn't help but hear the slight disapproval coloring her words, as though she too was containing herself from ripping Tony a new one.

It didn't matter. What did matter, however, was the confirmation that he was alone and unreachable for the other inhabitants of the house. It was all he needed — all he had been waiting for.

Unwilling to contain the tremors running through his body any longer, Tony leaned against the wall behind him and slid down, all the way to the floor, until he could sit down and put his head between his knees.

The panic attack wasn't unexpected, given the circumstances. It didn't mean that it was any easier to deal with it as he struggled to breathe for the following twenty-one minutes.

.

"What have you done?" Wanda demanded sharply the instant he walked into the kitchen to grab some much-needed coffee. Her posture told him all he had to know about the situation.

"Me? You'll have to be more specific, Sweet-Cheeks," Tony grinned, equally as sharp, moving towards the coffee machine. "I have done many things in my life."

She glared. "Stop deflecting. Peter," she clarified. "What. Have. You. Done?"

There was no mercy to be found on her bright, green eyes.

Wanda wasn't about to give him a way out as he had stupidly expected her to. Instead, she just stood there, perfectly still, waiting for him to crawl out of the hole he had just dug for himself.

Which Tony intended to do — just as soon as he came up with an appropriate response that wouldn't compromise him even further.

It would happen. Any minute now. Just… any minute.

"Are you at a loss for words, Stark?" Wanda asked. Provoked.

"Me? Entirely impossible," he said, ignoring the way her eyes seemed to catch every chance in his expression. For fuck's sake, didn't she blink anymore? What's with the crazy stare.

Wanda tilted her head to the side a bit. "Is it? Hun."

"Yes, absolutely," Tony agreed, ready to make a quick escape in lack of any other option. "Well, this has been a lovely talk but I gotta run." He started to walk past her, moving towards the stairs. "You know, all those projects to finish and all that…"

Those bright eyes never lost sight of him, though. "You know," she said calmly, making no further moves to follow him. "This conversation isn't over and this cabin is far too small for you to keep running away."

Tony never stopped moving, already going down the steps when he yells back. "I have no clue what you just said. Must've been the accent — always so hard to keep track of the words and all."

And with those frankly insulting parting words, Tony entered his workshop and proceeded to slam his head against the wall several times, silently cursing his own stupidity.

.

Tony was thinking with his dick.

The situation was beyond inappropriate and had he any last shred of dignity remaining, he would've left the second he realised his thoughts had been drifting towards unwanted areas. As it was, however, Tony stayed where he was, half-sitting half-lying in his recliner, watching the scene unfold from behind his sunglasses, torn between hoping they would stop and praying they never did.

It was wrong.

Wrong on so many levels to be staring like a creep as Peter and Wanda ran after each other around the pool, both completely unaware of his dirty thoughts. And yet…

How could he not, though?

How, indeed, could Tony think of anything else when a nearly naked Peter, wearing only his indecent swimming trunks, was doing all sorts of acrobatics as he chased after a similarly semi-naked Wanda, who was using her powers to evade Peter even as she ran?

Tony wanted to go back to his Stark Pad. He really did. He had work to do, and this situation could only end terribly — still his eyes never even blinked, the traitors.

No.

Tony looked.

He looked as they played and could only picture how hotter the scene would be if clothes started to come off.

It would be a natural unfolding of the situation, of course. After all, this wasn't the first time Tony had found himself in a situation such as this. No, of course not. And instantly memories of past threesomes bombarded his mind, showing people in situations so similar to this one, that it could almost be transplanted into the present if Tony made a little effort.

The only thing keeping him from doing such was the obvious glaring difference: Peter and Wanda.

They were so distinct, so distant from any person Tony had ever been with, that the situations could hardly compare. No other woman he had met could manipulate energy with her bare hands, and no other man could move like that.

This was a first, in that sense.

In other ways, though… not so much. Not at all. Not even a little, because the second Wanda jumped on Peter's back, laughing as she held onto him with her legs and arms, Tony's brain began to send very familiar signs to his lower half.

Suddenly, he could picture those same smooth legs wrapping themselves around his head… those arms grasping at Peter for dear life while To—

"—ny! Tony!" Peter called, waving at him with his entire arm in his enthusiasm, Wanda still riding at his back, also smiling in his direction. He didn't sound mad anymore. "Don't you wanna come?"

God, he did. So fucking back.

Not swimming with them, of course. That he couldn't, given his current situation. It probably wouldn't go down very well if he got up from his recliner and his huge fucking erection made itself known in the worst way possible.

Tony needed to make himself scarce as soon as possible to go to his goddamn room, where he could rub one in peace and hopefully forget that this entire thing ever happened in the first place.

"I'm good," he answered, doing his best to wave back while keeping his Stark Pad carefully positioned over his lap. "Seems like a mutant's only thing there — but have fun!"

"Awn! No! We can play nice, too!"

"Yeah, Stark," Wanda agreed, and God, Tony wished she had chosen a better moment to become comfortable with teasing him. "We'll go easy on you. Don't worry!"

He wasn't worrying. That was the problem.

He should be worrying.

Needed to start worrying immediately.

"Very funny, Clever-Fingers. Still, I'll pass." Tony casually mentioned to the tablet in his hands. "Work and all that. Someone's gotta pay for this house and all."

"C'mon," Peter argued, wrapping his hands around Wanda's tights to hold her steady. "Don't give us the money card."

"I don't think you're allowed to play that card if you're a billionaire," Wanda pointed out, leaning forward to rest her chin on top of Peter's head.

"Well, kids," Tony said, very purposely, "with that attitude, you'll never be a billionaire." And he lowered his eyes to his Stark Pad, hoping they would take the hint and leave him alone with his sinful thoughts. Talking was not helping his case, weirdly enough.

"Meh," Peter wined, and somehow Tony was certain the boy was showing him the tongue. Which, yeah, also did not help a single bit.

Fortunately, that was enough. They went back to their own thing, and Tony went back to work. Or, at least, Tony pretended to go back to work for a couple of minutes before giving up completely and going back to staring at the pair like a creep.

And sure enough, the second he did, there was his dick again.

Hard and putting ideas into his head that had no business being there. Crazy, totally ridiculous, unacceptable ideas, that unfortunately were hot enough to cloud Tony's mind so thoroughly that it seemed good.

Great, even. It seemed like the best idea he ever had.

The three of them together in bed? Christ, none of them would ever recover.

Shit.

.

Once the idea settled in — the treacherous, poisonous idea — it was impossible to get rid of it, despite Tony's herculean efforts.

Now that his mind had gotten a small taste of what it was like to fantasize about the possibility of them, it refused to think about anything else. It was an obsession, and it was driving him crazy in the worst sense of the word.

Too much like a drug, the images of the three of them together consumed Tony until it became hard to think about anything else. And not only in their presence, too. No. Everywhere. At all times.

In the shower, at the lab, in his bed, in the kitchen, by the pool, making breakfast, while he read and as he slept. The thoughts started to creep in and settle inside Tony's mind like poison ivy, eating at the rest until it had replaced his whole mental space with different possibilities of the impossible.

Because that's what it was. Impossible.

Getting involved in that way with Wanda and Peter, assuming they lost their mind long enough to actually consent to that, would be the absolute worst choice Tony had ever made in his miserable life, and Christ knew he had made enough already.

There was no need to add another gigantic sin to his long list of capital sins. There was no need to get them both involved in another one of his messes when they had already suffered so much from his other ones.

God, did he truly have no limits? Was there nothing Tony Stark wouldn't do when it came to self-pleasure and selfish desires?

Could he actually be fantasizing about people young enough to be his children? Had he sunken that low?

Tony wanted to shake the thoughts away and pretend it had been a momentary delusion on his part, a mistake caused by too much sun and dehydration, even though it never came close to being that sunny on his property, but even that seemed impossible.

Even his thinnest excuse wasn't sticking.

Nothing was sticking, 'cause first, he would have to stop having these thoughts and that? Fuck, that still hadn't happened since that fucking pool day.

.

"A relationship." Even as he uttered the words, Tony knew it sounded crazy. Even for him, this was breaking some kind of limit. "A polyamorous relationship."

"Yep," Peter agreed as if it was that easy. Just like that. No big deal.

Tony looked at Wanda, searching for a tiny shred of matching panic in her face, hoping that she had realised how absolutely nuts it was to even consider something of the sorts. She was a touch older, a tad rougher around the edges as well. Maybe she would understand better than Peter how unusual and bizarre that really was.

To his desperation, though, the second their eyes met, instead of the chaos he had expected to see reflected there, Tony could only see calm and tranquillity.

"A triad, I believe it's called, " she explained, presenting the name as some sort of big revealment.

"Are you cooking some sort of recreational drug while I'm not around? Because I'm not one to judge, trust me, been there, done that, but you guys should really cut back on the amount 'cause this is too much."

"We're not high, Tony," Peter said, rolling his eyes. It was clear that he thought Tony was being ridiculous and, truly, how fucked up was that? Tony was the unreasonable one in this situation?

"Well, it's either that or you both lost the last screw keeping your brains together."

"Our brains are fine, thank you for the insinuation," Wanda deadpanned, raising a brow at him. "Wouldn't it be easier if you would accept that we're being serious instead of trying to find something wrong with our motives?"

"It would, yes. If only you guys weren't trying to convince me that the two of you—" Tony pointed at each one slowly, hoping they heard him this time. "—want a fucking threesome with me."

"No. Not a threesome," Peter corrected. "A relationship. It's different."

"For the love of- Are you hearing yourself right now? That's not the important part, Peter. You're twenty-something years old, for Christ's sake. This isn't healthy."

"Do you truly believe that or are you just saying what you think you should say?" Wanda asked, so very calmly and Tony wanted to explode.

"Yes, I fucking believe that. Are you kidding me? This is wrong. So wrong I cannot begin to explain in words how wrong it is. To even suggest it—" Tony cut himself off, taking a second to breathe before he lost it completely. "No. This is a huge no for me, guys. If you two want to pursue a romantic relationship with each other, great, I couldn't be happier for the two of you. Honestly. But keep me out of it."

"We're not doing that," Peter instantly cleared, shaking his head. He crossed his arms in front of his chest in a move that Tony had seen too often with Rogers. That meant he wouldn't budge on the subject.

Peter would die on this hill, insisting that their idea wasn't the most surreal thing since Thanos plot to save the universe by killing the people in it.

Wanda nodded, agreeing with Peter. "We'll wait for you," she said, still using that ridiculous even voice with him. "If you're not ready, that's alright."

"Ready?" Tony repeated, jumping from his chair. He immediately started to pace back and forth in front of it, with too much pent up energy to stay put. "Just how many relationships have the two of you pursued, hun?"

He realised how unfair the question was the second it slipped past his lips. It was too late to take it back, though, and that became clear when Peter's eyes went instantly to Wanda, waiting for her reaction.

Already dreading what he would see, Tony too turned to stare at her, dreading to see just how badly he had fucked up, but to his surprise, she never even blinked. The words slid right off her, without a hitch.

"I had one," she said, head tilting to the side. Her mouth was pressed in a tight smile that spoke of nothing good to him. "And you?"

They all knew the answer to that. Tony felt she deserved that turn, though.

"One," he grunted. "With one person — I might add. An adult."

"We're both adults," Wanda pointed out at the same time as Peter said, "Not this again."

"This? This what? Common sense?"

"It's not that, though. You're just inventing excuses because you don't want to take us seriously."

"That's ridiculous. I'm not taking you seriously because this cannot be serious." Tony had had enough, he didn't have to keep hearing this nonsense. "This conversation is over."

And he turned to leave, happy to have closed that fucking disturbing topic, only Peter's voice carried across the hallway even as he walked away.

"Walking away is still close enough to running away to count, Tony!"

And, yeah, something told him that this would not be the last time he heard of this.

.

The problem with being a fucking genius was that Tony had to live with it. And that, unlike everybody seemed to think, was not the walk on the park the television sold it to be. Tony wished it was — he really did. It would make things so much simpler.

Only it wasn't.

Living with his mind — his always active mind — was only funny perhaps five per cent of the time, when it served his purposes without interfering with all else. The rest of the time? Annoying more than useful.

A pain more than a solution, to be perfectly honest.

When it came to his personal life? To things he wished he could ignore and forget, for at least a couple of hours to get something else done? Nope. Forget it.

His brain behaved much closer to a broken record — replaying the scenes over and over again, without a pause, never going back or going forward. Just a fucking constant loop of moments Tony had already lived through and was forced to relive until he wanted to snap.

There was a problem and Tony wouldn't be able to rest until he found a solution to it. That's how he was — that was the way his mind worked.

This time, however, the problem went far beyond his capacities as an engineer and a creator. MIT had no classes on how to deal with personal matters and Tony's family background never gave him much to work with either. In this, he tended to draw a blank.

No answers, no way to analyse the matter without compromising the whole thing with his personal feelings and wishes.

He did have enough years of therapy to his name to at least give him some pointers. That way, Tony knew exactly what was wrong, which helped him in absolutely nothing, so yeah, a great investment.

It made him aware of his fears, and his triggers, and how this situation touched on almost all of them at the same time, which was precisely why he had fled the scene with no finesse whatsoever.

It didn't tell him how to fix the problem, though.

No, that was on him to figure out.

He was, after all, the adult among the…. children? Adolescents? Young adults? Youth?

Christ, it sounded ridiculous when he tried to think about it. To infantilize Wanda and Peter after the things they went through was beyond prepotent. In truth, they both had more maturity in their middle finger than Tony had had in his whole body at their age.

Which, on the other hand, didn't say much, considering the shit he did back then.

They were mature and intelligent, Tony would give them that. They were both old enough to make independent choices about their own lives, even when it went against Tony's wishes, and they both had proved that more than once.

Which was a good thing. The only good thing in this mess, perhaps.

If Tony thought for a fucking second that he might have been influencing them in any way to behave that way, he would've gotten on the first helicopter out of there. And he would've been right to do so. He knew better than that, though.

Neither Peter nor Wanda were that gullible or foolish, even more so because they had each other now.

Rationally, Tony could see them being a good couple.

Him, though?

It was insane to even consider it.

Tony knew that very few who had met him had nice things to say about his character and/or personality, but saying yes to this would be stepping on a whole other level of fucked up, even for him, and that was saying something.

They were young. So goddamn young, for Christ's sake. What business did they have with an old man like him, who was way closer to the end of his pathetic life than the beginning of it?

Tony wasn't an idiot, or blind for that matter. He knew of the allure, the picture that most people saw when they looked at him, the idea of Tony Stark. Yeah, he knew. Had built that reputation and image for himself over the decades, living his life more publicly than privately for the most part — showing more than the public ever had any right to know.

So, of course, he understood the appeal, even for the twenty-something kids. The hero, the billionaire, the celebrity, the genius, the player, the playboy… From afar it seemed so fucking great.

Peter, though? Wanda? What could they possibly want with him that they couldn't get with each other, even? They both had seen the worst in Tony — his failures, his crises, his mistakes, his ego, his downfall. Better than most, they both knew how badly Tony had fucked up in his cursed life and just how many people had paid for each of his missteps.

Each a hero in their own right, they had no right to barge into Tony's life and dare to suggest that they should just cosy-up with each other and fuck the rest. As if they could. As if Tony had any right to such a thing, after everything.

And it wasn't like Tony wanted it in the first place. Them. Both of them. Peter and Wanda.

He didn't. It was absurd and a joke.

There might exist infinite universes, but in none of them did Tony Stark say yes to such a ludicrous idea. Absolutely not.

Tomorrow they would forget all about this momentary lapse of judgment and they would all go back to normal, carrying on with their lives.

Tomorrow it would all go away, and Tony would never have to consider the possibilities again.

Anything else was best left forgotten in the hazy recesses of his twisted mind, never to be spoken of out loud.

Never.

.

"Peter. Pete. Kid," Tony began slowly, trying to pace himself, to find the words, to act like the responsible adult he knew deep down he never managed to be. It wasn't easy, though. With each new word, the lines on Peter's face deepened further. "This is—Do you even know how ol—You know what? No. That's a no for me, Parker. Good talk, though. Let's never do this again, hun? Great."

Peter gave him an unimpressed look. "Really? _That's_ what you're going with?"

"I have no idea what you mean with that, Parker. Are millennials all about informed consent and the power of saying no to the—"

"Yeah, sure. You are not a millennial, though, and neither am I, honestly," Peter said bluntly. "You're deflecting. You always deflect."

"What can I say? It's a talent."

"No, it isn't."

"Hun. Guess we'll have to agree to disagree here, Underoos. How about that? Compromise and shit — Pepper said I should learn something about that."

"I'm pretty sure Pepper didn't mean it quite like this, Mr. Stark."

Tony knew he shouldn't say it, but he could hardly help himself. "You do realize that there's absolutely no reason for you to still call me Mr. Stark, right? You know my name, kid. Use it."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "I don't think so," he disagreed. "I think Mr. Stark suits you just fine." And with those ominous parting words, he turned and left the workshop without even a backwards glance.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Tony yelled after him, but the only response he got was the sound of closing doors and a meaningful silence.

.

"How many days have you been locked up in here?" Wanda asked, although the way she crooked an eyebrow told him that she already knew the answer to that and a lie on his part would only deepen his hole.

"Boss has been in the lab for three days. To be more precise, seventy-six hours, twenty-eight minutes and seventeen seconds," F.R.I.D.A.Y. provided before Tony can even begin to spew some deflective, well-rehearsed excuse.

"I took a nap, okay? On that couch over there," Tony explained, pointing to the large couch on the other side of the room. "It's not like I've been working for—"

.

Tony laid on his bed, looking at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come. It had been almost three days since he last slept — surely his body must be tired by then, and in desperate need of a couple of hours of rest. So why was he awake?

.

It was late. Way past the normal time for humans to be asleep, truly. And Tony had already lost count on the number of nights he had skipped sleep, locked down on his workshop, drowning under the sound of Metallica.

Perhaps that's the reason he didn't turn around and left the second he spotted Wanda standing in the kitchen, mixing something in a bowl Tony didn't even know he owned. Yes. Tony would blame the tiredness and the lack of proper nutrients until his dying breath if he had to, but he stayed. Stayed and went straight to the fridge, praying for a sandwich to magically appear there, just waiting for him.

He said nothing, though. Tony ignored her presence and hoped she would have the sense to do the same and carry on doing whatever it was she was doing without acknowledging his sudden appearance.

It was a fair expectation. It was late, and if Wanda had the slightest bit of self-respect, then she was most likely beyond pissed off at him, and Tony's previous experiences with angry women told him that they either screamed at or ignored him.

Seeing as Wanda had never struck him as the screaming type, Tony was fairly confident in his predicament that he would be able to grab some food and leave without needing to exchange words.

Unfortunately, like so many times lately, Tony was dead wrong. It wasn't the silent treatment, no, it was much worse. Wanda waited until he had his entire head inside the refrigerator to casually say:

"There's a plate for you in the microwave." That was it. No inflexion, no clues.

It did solve his food problem, thankfully.

"Great!" Tony said, reaching for the microwave with one hand and closing the fridge with the other, mentally going over the odds of it being Peter's cooking or Wanda's. Hers was always a gamble, really.

"It's lasagna," Wanda said, as if hearing his thoughts. She kept stirring whatever she was making. "Peter made it earlier."

.

"Are you a virgin?"

The words slipped from his lips before Tony could hold them in. As soon as he thought about the possibility, the second his mind jumped to that idea and no answer showed up right away, his treacherous mouth opened without his permission and blurted out the dreadful question.

"Are you?" Tony asked, demanded, ordered without any sort of tact or prudence, once again digging himself a hole that would only serve as his possible grave.

Wanda blanched, clearly caught unaware by the deeply personal question. "I-I beg-Excuse me? What?"

And like the idiot he deep-down inside still was, Tony repeated. "Sex. Have you ever had any?"

It was a simple yes or no question. She could just give him an answer before his brain exploded from all the fucking weird possibilities. Christ, if she was still a virgin that would be unbearable. Tony could handle this sort of thing anymore — maybe he never could.

She quirked a brow and pursed her lips. "I have, yes," she finally answered. "It's that what you wanted to hear?"

He could hardly lie at this stage. "Yes."

"Would it be so horrible if I was still a virgin?"

"I wouldn't say horrible," Tony evaded, although that was the exact word he had been thinking about seconds before.

"That's not very convincing," Wanda pointed out, crossing her arms under her breasts. Her face told Tony all he needed to know — the situation was going downhill, fast.

"Would you prefer I lied?"

"I would prefer if you told me the truth. What's the point of knowing if I am or not a virgin? Do you dislike sleeping with people who don't know what to do?" She said crudely. "Is Tony Stark too experienced to sleep with unripe fruit?"

"First, don't ever compare yourself to fruit again — that's disturbing on several levels. Second, that's not it — at all." Tony stopped, exhaled. There was no pretty way to explain his concerns. "I'm simply not the best person to… I'm not the man to take anyone's virginity, believe me. My concern is not for myself."

Wanda frowned, taken back. "Have you never—"

"Nope," Tony cut her off, knowing exactly what she wanted to know. "Not once. Never."

"What's so wrong with being a virgin? I don't understand."

"There's nothing wrong. Absolutely nothing. I'm just not suited for the job — that's all. I never have been. People generally expect their first time to be romantic and meaningful and filled with the sort of reassurance I've never been good at giving."

"Sounds like you just don't want to bother with it."

"Bother? More like I was usually too drunk or too high to give the A+ treatment, sweetheart," Tony mocked. Her or himself, it was hard to tell. Both, perhaps.

"You are not neither at the moment," Wanda pointed out, giving him a meaningful look.

"Still not my forte, I'm afraid."

"I see," She spoke softly, tilting her head to the left, thinking about her next words. When she opened her mouth again, Wanda came for blood. "Have you told Peter that?"

It was Tony's time to blanch. "Peter? What does he have—"

"Well, as far as I'm aware, he's still very much a virgin," she said, and Tony's blood turned to ice. "How are you planning to tell him that he'll have to find another for the job?"

"I don't-I don't plan to-Peter will have plenty of opportunities to sleep with whomever he pleases," Tony said, but it sounded weak. Far too weak, even to his own ears.

"It's that so?" Wanda twisted the knife, like a shark who tasted the fresh blood on the water. She got up from the couch and gave him one last look. "I'll let you be the one to tell him that, alright? I'm sure Peter will be thrilled to have so many options given to him."

With that nice sentiment, Wanda left. Walked away from the room and left him there, alone with his thoughts, her words playing on a loop inside his mind, eating at his brain until it was all that remained.

Wanda left.

Tony stayed for hours, unable to get his feet to move.

.

"You're twenty-four," Tony pointed out, repeating the words out loud, hoping his treacherous brain heard the message once for all. "A kid. I'm old enough to be your father — you understand that, right?"

Before she could answer, though, Peter walked inside, three steamy mugs in his hands. "Well, considering that she's a very mature twenty-four and you are a virtual teenager when it comes to self-preservation, maybe, like, it evens the balance?"

The words are light and casual, as though they are discussing the weather, with Peter placing their respective mugs in front of them as he spoke, and Tony nearly choked on his own spit.

"Kid-what? How did you even hear—"

"Enhanced hearing," Peter provided, sharing a satisfied grin with Wanda. "Now, going back to the point..."

.

Tony eyed the content of the bottle, calculating how much damage that amount of scotch was going to do to his sanity before deciding that it didn't fucking matter. None of it mattered. So he chugged the rest of it in one go, swallowing past the burning in his throat once he was done.

"Boss…"

"Shut up, Fri. Shut up."

Tony needed it.

He needed to feel in control of something, even if it was this — this booze and his ability to drink it all.

.

There's a girl standing in front of a mirror brushing her hair. There's an old-looking hairbrush in her hand, and the girl is using it to comb each strand of her hair with the sort of dedication and tenderness that spoke of purpose. A reason.

Tony didn't know the reason, and it didn't matter. He still stood there, partly hidden by the doorway, watching as she took her time to run the hairbrush several times across a long piece of her beautiful hair.

There's no doubt that is a private moment, something he should never be privy to, and yet, despite the certainty that he did not belong there, that he needed to leave, Tony remained where he was. It wasn't his fault, his feet were stuck to the floor, heavy and immovable.

He could only watch, mesmerised, as the light reflected on her hair and a thousand colors reflected back to him. Personally to him. The girl wasn't watching the colors of her own hair. No, she was too busy doing a perfect job at detangling it, and therefore, the almost sacred vision of the sunlight hitting right at the top of her head was meant solely for him. And he's soaked in it; bathed in it.

How long had it been since he had witnessed something beautiful? Something innocent and sacred and that demanded nothing of him.

How long?

He couldn't remember. Maybe there had never been one — not before that moment, right there. So he watched. Watched with his entire focus, willing his stupid brain to do something right for once and capture that moment, so that maybe he would have something good to remember once in a while.

It's weird. In a way, the moment seems to stretch forever. The girl's hair was very long; there's just too many strands to comb through. Still, it felt like only a strange blink of an eye before she raised her head a little and their eyes met on the mirror.

Tony wanted to turn and run — that's what he should have done. But his feet were still stuck to the floor, and he could no more run away than he could tear his eyes away from her stare.

When her mouth opened, still Tony's eyes remained where they were, and he listened to her sweet voice as though it was coming from far away.

"Do you want to come in?" She asked, barely more than a whisper.

Did she not realize that Tony couldn't? That he was frozen there, and it was impossible to move. He opened his mouth to say that, to respond, but his jaw hung loose and not a single word crossed his lips. Turned out his voice, too, was frozen.

He worried that his lack of response would break the moment, but he's concern was for nothing. The girl carried on, as if he had spoken. Answered.

"My mom used to do this when I was little," she said softly. "She loved my hair. I would wake up, and she would sit me at her vanity, she would grab this pretty, really old hairbrush that she had inherited from her mother, and she would spend long, long minutes brushing my hair. Running her fingers through it."

Tony stayed. He stayed and listened, despite the anguish that was curling around his chest with each passing word.

He felt like an intruder. A criminal hearing his sentence.

"She could do the most beautiful hairdos," the girl continued, unaware of Tony's inner conflict. "Plaids were her favorite. She taught me to do the most intricate ones. You see, every girl in my class used to be jealous of them, of how beautiful they looked. When I look back, I can't remember a time where I was happier than right there. Where I had my family, my brother, my innocence. Happiness."

She paused. Breathed.

"After my mother died, I couldn't bear to even touch my hair. I just couldn't. I had it sitting at the top of my head, and that was more than enough memory as it was. I never wore a braid since then. I couldn't — I still don't know if I can," she said, sadness clinging to her voice, ample and devastating. "How pathetic is it to be afraid of looking at myself in the mirror, and realizing that I will never be as good as her? I don't want to. To look upon myself and see that I've tainted a perfect memory."

She turned around in her place to stare at Tony directly. "Does that make sense?"

"Yes," he answered, and it was only when he heard his own slurry voice that Tony realised he was completely drunk.

.

"We gotta stop meeting here," Tony said, even as pulled out a chair and sat down, nursing his piping hot cup of coffee. Not his first, thankfully.

"It's the kitchen," Peter deadpanned, pouring milk in a huge bowl of cereal. And by huge, Tony meant that it surely resembled the salad bowl Pepper had bought, which was probably meant for a big family. "We all need to eat."

"We do, yes. Only Wanda keeps trying to force vegetables down our throats. That's not how I like to start my mornings."

She turned to glare at him, hands still gripping the handle of a frying pan. "And how do you like to start your mornings?"

_With a blowjob_ , his mind promptly supplied. He managed to keep himself from blurting that out, thanks to the high levels of caffeine coursing through his veins at the moment. Surely irritating the woman with the hot oil wouldn't be his smartest choice.

"Bacon," he answered instead. "And pancakes. Waffles. I'm an American, woman. That's what we eat here."

Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "That's so unhealthy for you."

"We're all dying anyway. Might as well enjoy the ride."

Peter sat down next to him, placing his super-sized bowl of cereal in front of him. "Also, no one wants to start the day eating spinach." He shoved a spoonful into his mouth and spoke around the food. "It's not right."

"You're disgusting," Wanda said, sliding her concoction into a clean plate. "That's not right."

"She's got a point there, buddy. Chew, don't spill."

"Whatever." Peter shrugged. "I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," Wanda grumbled, holding her plate in one hand and pouring orange juice with another. It was all so very healthy and wholesome, and Tony nearly flinched. There was no way someone chose to eat like that.

"Fast metabolism," Peter pointed out, a line of milk dripping down his chin. Between Wanda's food and Peter table manners, Tony wondered if he would ever feel hungry again.

After that, it happened fast.

Wanda turned to answer, a cheeky response visible in her lips, forgetting completely about the full place still balancing on her arm, and obviously, as physics demanded, the whole thing started to fall to the ground.

Tony had only the time to wince, bracing himself for the mess to come when a blur crossed his line of vision and grabbed the plate before it managed to hit the floor. And sure enough, Peter had leaned back and grabbed it with one hand, the other still wrapped tight around his spoon.

Wordlessly, he handed the plate back to Wanda, acting as though it was no big deal that he had just managed to do that when he had been sitting with his back to her the whole time. Honestly, Tony hoped Fri had gotten that on camera because he needed to see the entire thing in slow motion.

"Thanks," Wanda said, also unbothered by the display. It occurred to him that growing up with her brother, Wanda was probably used to people being fast around her.

Tony wasn't.

Still wasn't, even after all the weird shit he had seen.

"Woah, nice catch there, kid," he whistled in appreciation.

Peter, who had already gone back to his cereal, lifted his head in confusion. "What? Oh, that. Thanks. No biggie."

"What? No- Yeah, whatever." Tony shook his head, giving up.

Wanda sat down on Tony's other side, basically trapping him between her and Peter.

"Don't flatter him — it will go to his head," she said. "He almost let the quinoa fall off the plate."

Peter stuck his tongue out. "Wouldn't have been a great loss, anyway."

Tony couldn't help but agree, but wisely said nothing. He carried on sipping his coffee, watching their banter as one watched an entertaining show on tv.

"Oh, shut up. You wouldn't die if you tried something with actual vitamins for once."

"What does that mean?! Frosted Flakes has a bunch of vitamins. You don't know what you're talking about."

"No it doesn't — it's just corn and sugar."

"It is mostly corn and sugar," Tony agreed. "Nothing wrong with that, though. If I had your metabolism, I would only eat chocolate and gummy bears. Fuck it."

"When was the last time you even ate something?" Wanda questioned, pointing her fork at him. "You, sir, eat like an unsupervised toddler." She turned to Peter. "Both of you."

"I'm a genius. Being somewhat eccentric comes with the job description."

"Eating crap is not eccentric." She rolled her eyes. "It's bad example, it's what it is. Would you teach your kids that?"

Woah.

"Kids?" Tony coughed, his coffee almost going into the wrong pipe. "I don't know if you met me, but I'm pretty much the opposite of parent material. Playboy, billionaire, and all that. I'm sure my eating habits are the least of my concerns there."

And Pepper made sure he knew that. In painful details. Over and over again, while they had the same tired conversation about kids in the years they lived together. Pepper had wanted children, only not with him. And, unsurprisingly, the shit he ate never even ranked high enough in her list of crappy things about him to feature in the arguments.

What was surprising, though, was how Wanda and Peter, in unison, frowned at his answer, as though they were surprised by it instead of, you know, entertained by his carefully cultivated self-depreciation humor.

"You don't want kids?" Peter asked, a deep line marking his forehead.

"You don't think you would be a good parent?" Wanda questioned almost at the same time, also looking far too surprised about it.

"How it's this a surprise? I'm pretty sure abortion clinics have my face painted on their walls, guys. C'mon. Why the long faces?"

"That's awful," Peter said. "Of course they don—You could be a parent, Tony. Anyone can, really. You just have to want them, to be willing to do what it takes. You're not, like, incapable of taking care of a child."

"Yeah, no. I'm pretty sure it takes more than that to be a good parent." And Tony knew exactly how crappy some people could be when they only wanted a child for all the wrong reasons. "Any person can have a kid, sure, that doesn't mean they should. It's a huge responsibility."

"You have huge responsibilities, Tony," Wanda pointed out carefully, she pushed some food around her plate as she spoke slowly. "Every day, even. Don't you think you shoulder way more than, well, all the rest of the population? How could that even compare to raising a human being?"

"Seeing as most of my crap went south on me, it probably doesn't bode well for me to father a poor kid."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Peter asked angrily, pushing his chair back and getting up to put his bowl on the sink. His movements brusque and he looked very much similar to how Pepper had looked whenever the subject of kids came up — only backwards? Was Peter angry that he didn't want to be a father?

"Of course, I do. It's one of my greatest pleasures, to hear the sound of my own brilliance," Tony joked, hoping to make light of the situation.

"I'm serious," Peter insisted. "Why do you always think the worst about yourself? There's literally no reason for you to think you would be anything other than a great—"

And that's where Tony drew the line.

"Nope. I have all the reasons in the universe to think I would be a terrible father. You don't know what you're talking about," Tony corrected, although not as gently as he wished he had. The whole subject of fatherhood was one of his triggers, and even though they couldn't possibly know that, it irked him that they would insist on arguing with him without knowing about his past. "I appreciate the optimism, but I'm not planning on getting a kid, alright? Let's move on."

Wanda and Peter exchanged looks over his shoulders, far too quickly for Tony to understand what was being said there. Thankfully, they seemed to decide to respect his decision, so when Wanda opened her mouth again, it was to ask about something else entirely.

It was a relief.

Tony pretended to shove the conversation at the back of his mind and carried on as if the pair hadn't dug back a pile of crap he had buried deep into the crevices of his mind after Pepper left.

It was alright, though.

He could do it again, if he had to. Shoving his problems away and dealing with the matters at hand had become Tony's number one talent in the last decade, so this shouldn't be more than another bump in his arguably over-bumpy road.

.

Peter decided to go. Decided to finally visit May. Tony shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans and pretended the decision wasn't eating at his insides — that having Peter out of his house and his sight didn't raise all sorts of alarms in his brain.

It was Peter's call. Tony could hardly tackle him to the ground and forbid him from leaving. No, scratch that. He absolutely could. If only his rational side would unstick his feet from the floor, he could prevent Peter from going out and leaving the protection of Tony's presence.

Unfortunately, his mental struggle didn't pass unnoticed.

"Someone's anxious," Wanda teased from her place on the couch. She looked completely relaxed — not a single tight muscle in her damn body.

"Shut up, fairy-godmother," Tony said, with more spite than she deserved, really.

Peter lifted his head, his untied laces still in his hand. "Would it make you more comfortable if I wore something?" He asked, also disturbingly calm.

What? "Wore something?"

"Don't give me that," Peter deadpanned. "I know you've made tracking and spying devices for me."

Tony had, of course. Dozens of them. Still… "I—"

Peter made a gesture with his hand, leaving his palm up. "Just hand them over."

"You don't have to," Tony gritted the responsible words out of his locked jaw, wondering if that meant he had to come clean about the fact that he had already hacked into every camera within a mile from May's house.

Peter rolled his eyes, going back to his shoes. "I know. Now give 'em to me. It's not creepy if I'm the one asking for it."

"It kinda is, though," Wanda pointed out, although she, too, looked weirdly unbothered by the offer.

"Whatever, I'm fine with it."

"Wait here." Tony didn't have to be told twice. He had entire drawers of equipment he had made just for this type of situation, it just had never occurred to him that Peter would actually agree to it.

.

The water burned.

Still, Tony raised his head and welcomed the heat.

Better to burn in this uncomfortable shower, than to be reminded of a different time and place, when it all felt so goddamn cold. He tipped his head back and embraced the heat, the strong water, the way his skin was starting to sweat in response to the temperature.

If felt… not good, but close enough to it that he could pretend to be enjoying the experience — at least for now.

Taking a shower meant he wasn't dead. Meant he wasn't freezing to death in the middle of Siberia, left behind to die alone in the snow.

If he was burning, then he wasn't freezing.

Dying.

The water kept him grounded to the present — until it didn't.

It was always a temporary fix for him. A momentary relief. Something to take the edge off, until that too became another problem instead of a solution. Until the water reminded him of a cave and not of the present.

One memory replacing the other.

One trauma overstepping the other.

Just like that, the water became unbearable.

.

It was a terrible fucking morning when Tony dragged his sorry ass out of bed and all the way to the common areas, doing his best to pretend his night hadn't been a shit show.

"What happened?" Peter asked the second Tony walked into the kitchen, raising his eyes from the bowl of cereal sitting in front of him.

"Well, good morning to you too, buddy," Tony deflected, going straight for the coffee machine. He ignored the fact that they both knew about the dozen other machines spread all over the house. The other rooms didn't have Peter or Wanda, so…

"Good morning," he dutifully said, although his eyes flew up and down Tony's body searching for a piece out of the way. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. Why would you ask that?"

Peter never missed a beat. "Because you look awful."

"Ouch." Tony's hand went to his heart, and he flinched. "Please, don't hold back."

"Don't give me that." Peter pointed at him accusingly with his dirty spoon. "You know what I mean, Tony. Why didn't you sleep — what happened?"

"Sleep is overrated. I've evolved past such mundane needs."

"No, you haven't," Wanda said from behind him all of a sudden, and Tony nearly jumped out of his skin.

"For fuck's sake!" Tony cursed, twisting around and glaring at her with all his might. Goddammit, was the girl trying to kill him? "What the hell was that?"

She merely shrugged. "Peter heard me coming," she said, as if that made everything okay.

Tony turned to glare at the next offender, and Peter, at least, had the decency to look ashamed.

"Sorry," Peter said. "In my defense, I didn't know she would do that."

"Great," Tony deadpanned while doing his best to get his heartbeat back into a normal rhythm. "If I do die, you'll only have yourself to blame."

"Dibs on the cars!" Wanda called without missing a beat, raising her hand and all.

"You can't call dibs on all of them!" Peter protested, indignant. He was still chewing a mouthful of cereal, though, and some of it flew out of his mouth as he spoke.

"Ew, Peter." Wanda's nose crinkled in disgust.

Tony thought she was being a bit hypocritical. "You're calling dibs on my possessions before I even hit the grave and Peter's the one being disgusting?"

She gave him a pointed stare. "Exactly."

"That's just sad. No respect for your elders."

"Oh, whatever. Don't start with the 'I'm oh so very old' speech," Peter said, rolling his eyes. "We get it, you're fucking old. Still, she can't get all the cars!"

"No one is getting my cars," Tony explained, finally holding his mug of coffee in his hands. "I'm being buried with them, like the pharaohs. Taking them with me to heaven and shit."

"No, you're not. That's just wasteful."

"Wasteful would be you getting them, Wanda. You don't even know how to drive."

"Sorry, kids. It's been done. Fri has my will — it's all there."

"I'm afraid I do not have such a version of your will, Boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y., the traitor, casually commented.

"What have I said about contradicting me?" Tony shook his head in fake disappointment. "You leave me no choice but to turn you off."

Apparently, his threats worked on absolutely no one in that house, because his A.I didn't even have the decency of sounding sorry when she corrected him. "You cannot turn me off, Boss."

"Watch me," Tony grumbled back.

"So, I still get the cars," Wanda asked, moving to the cupboard to grab one of her disgusting healthy foods, no doubts. "Right?"

"No!" Peter screamed at her back. "No, you don't. I get at least half of them. The better half, obviously."

"Better half?" Tony repeated, incredulous. "I resent that. My cars are all equally amazing, Parker."

"Oh, they are not. That green one is ugly as fu—"

"Do not finish that sentence! She's a classic!"

"Yeah, classic. Right," Peter said, rolling his eyes. "More like a prototype that went wrong."

"You take that back!"

"No! I'm right, Tony! It's time to accept that it's an ugly car!"

"That's it!" Tony said. "Wanda is getting the cars. You obviously have no taste."

Wanda cheered, Peter groaned, and Tony sipped his coffee.

It was a good morning.

.

Peter unfolded his legs and stretched them and suddenly they were landing softly on Tony's lap. Just like that.

And no one reacted. Wanda carried on stirring whatever concoction she was preparing on the stove, and Peter carried on reading on his Stark Pad, and Friday remained suspiciously silent, and Tony had no idea how to act.

Peter's legs were on his lap and everyone was acting like that was normal, like they did this sort of thing. But Tony's fingers were frozen on the screen and his mind ran a thousand possibilities at once.

He breathed.

One, twice.

Once more.

And relaxed.

Tony's shoulders dropped, and he allowed the moment to stand and his personal space to be invaded and his chance of complaining about it to pass untaken.

It wasn't such a big deal, in the end. Peter wanted to stretch his leg and Tony was in the way, and they lived together, and honestly? It was really a small example of the things Tony would allow Peter to do if he wanted to.

So, yeah, legs.

They did that now.

Tony waited for his usual response to unwanted touch. Waited for his body to recoil and a sense of disgust to rise. Waited for his tongue to run loose and the insults to flow freely. Waited for all his walls to rise up and the need to flee overtake him.

None of it happened, however. It was weird, and sort of uncomfortable. The weight of it — the heels digging on his thigh. That was it, though. Nothing more. Only the weird feeling of doing something for the first time with someone and having no repertoire to fall back on.

Which was fine.

Nice, even, if Tony were to search for the feelings hidden deep beneath his layers of rational thoughts. It felt nice to be touched so casually, so unpretentiously. Without etiquette and manners.

A touch for a touch. That's it.

Slowly, Tony lowered one hand until he could place it on Peter's ankle — his touch light and careful. The soft skin was warm and the bone was sharp.

When that also failed to get any sort of reaction, Tony breathed normally once again and went back to his work.

An hour later, when Wanda called them to the kitchen to try to force them to eat a thick, disgusting-looking casserole, Tony realised that his fingers had been tracing numbers on Peter's skin.

.

She walked into his room without knocking, without announcing herself, and not even his AI said anything, and for the first time, Tony realised how open he had allowed himself to become with them. There's no line, no boundaries.

They didn't have locked doors any longer. No privacy to speak of. Nothing. Peter crawled, jumped, somersaulted into his workshop whenever he pleased, and Wanda did the same with his personal rooms, strolling inside as though she had every right to each inch of it.

And what could Tony say about it? What grounds to complain did he have when he was the worst of them? When he was the one who constantly monitored them both, who had cameras on every space of the Cabin, who barged into their rooms, and their spaces, and to wherever they were without thinking twice because they belonged to—

Christ.

.

"It's 4 a.m," Tony pointed out, not knowing what else to say in that situation.

"I'm aware," Wanda said, carefully pouring a dark liquid into a mug. A red, shiny mug that Tony knew for sure had never been in his rooms before Wanda started to show up unexpectedly.

He waited for her to expand, to explain, to give him something, but when it became clear that that was all he was getting, Tony raised a brow. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?"

She glanced up, her eyes sharp despite the late hour. "Shouldn't you?"

"Sleep is not really my thing."

"How convenient," Wanda said, a small grin tugging on her lips. She takes a sip and her eyes flutter shut, pleasure flashing quickly across her face.

"Coffee?" Tony asked, already coming close and reaching for it.

Wanda shook her head. "No. You know I don't drink coffee," she reminded him gently. She nevertheless handed the mug over. "You may try it, though."

Tony looked down in suspicion, trying to sniff what the hell he was about to drink, but it smelled like spices and nothing else he could discern.

Wanda chuckled. "I promise there's no poison in it."

"That's what she said," Tony mumbled under his breath. Still, he moved the warm mug to his lips and took a small sip, praying it wasn't some healthy, disgusting shit.

It wasn't. It tasted like chocolate, and cinnamon, and something spicy, and fuck it if it wasn't one of the best things Tony had ever tasted in his miserable life.

"What is this?" He demanded, bringing the mug protectively closer to his chest, daring her to try to pry it away from his hands.

Wanda never made any move towards it, though. She seemed content to observe him, her eyes shining in mirth. "Something my mother used to make me," she admitted. The words strained, despite her light demeanour.

Instantly, Tony grimaced. What right did he have to the recipe of a woman he had killed?

Wanda rolled her eyes in response. She walked to his bed and threw herself on the mattress, lying down and getting all cosy without a minute of hesitation.

"C'mon," she said, patting the empty space beside her as if this was her bed and not his. "We're watching a movie together."

Tony looked down at the mug in his hands, looked at the television, looked at his bed, looked at Wanda. He had many choices, and only one of them wasn't the wrong one.

He could still walk away.

But the moment passed, and Wanda asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to put on The Wizard of Oz, and Tony's response was only to go back to his side of the bed and lie down to watch the goddamn movie.

In his mind, he told himself that he could've left if only she hadn't chosen that particular movie. It had been one of his mother's favorites.

.

"Hey, Tony," she whispered in the morning.

The words were weak, tentative. She was treating him with kid gloves, waiting to see what his reaction might be — as if he was about to blow a casket. Indulging him, even now.

"It's fine," Tony finally said, knowing the words were true even if his heart was still trying to jump out of his freaking chest.

Wanda smiled, raising a hand to reach for him. "We got some good hours of sleep," she agreed, although her eyes never stopped scanning his face, looking for clues, watching. "Come here."

At her explicit command, Tony moved. Gave in to his impulses and listened to the voice inside his head screaming at him to touch her, to check, to see how it would feel.

He rolled closer, taking her offered hand and allowing her to pull him into her open arms, resting his head on her collarbone.

It was the first time he slept next to someone since Pepper.

.

Tony wasn't big on touches.

If he wasn't having sex or in the middle of some random battle, then he probably wasn't touching another person — or worse, being touched by said person. So, yeah, he avoided the whole physical affection and shared touches and innocent caress. It wasn't his thing.

One would never guess that if they saw him at the moment, sitting in the middle of his enormous couch with two people all over him. It was ridiculous, he admitted. There was plenty of space for them to be quite comfortable without invading his personal bubble, and yet…

There he was, with Peter on his left, spread on the rest of the couch and with his head on Tony's shoulder, completely taking over the use of Tony's left arm. On his right, Wanda had done even worse, and went straight for his lap, laying her head on his thigh and doing some weird hug thing on his leg.

Somehow Tony had agreed to a movie night and ended up agreeing to also spend the night being grouped by two touchy koala-bears. Seriously, how could two small people take over so much space?

It went against physics. It had to.

How was he supposed to pay attention to Pretty Woman when he could hardly shift in place without disarranging everyone from their places? He liked Pretty Woman, dammit.

"Will you relax," Wanda grumbled, tightening her hold of his leg, which was counterproductive to her point, really.

"Yeah, you're making your shoulder pointy," Peter whined.

"That's not even possible," Tony argued. "And how am I supposed to relax? Have you both heard of personal space in your lives?"

"Nope," Peter said, dragging on the word. "Have no clue what you're on about. I'm comfortable. Wanda?"

"I'm great, thank you," she agreed right away, then looked up and met Tony's eyes. "Seriously, though, are you alright? You haven't relaxed since the movie started." She paused, then sighed. "If you want you, we can move, okay? I don't want you uncomfortable for movie night."

"You love this one," Peter mumbled, and how had they found that out by the way?

Tony exhaled, ready to accept the offer and be done with the whole thing, but then Wanda started to get up and Peter began to move away and the reality caught up with him. As soon as the opportunity was presented to him, it became awful. The last thing Tony wanted was for them to shift to the ends of the couch and spend the rest of the movie trying not to touch him.

Having them arguing about the movie over his head was half the fun, after all. He could probably deal with a little touching if it meant they could continue to do this without changing anything.

He wouldn't die.

He wouldn't enjoy it, of course not. He could just… you know, endure it.

Sure, that's what he would say to himself. He was enduring it for the sake of the common good.

"Shut up," he said, pushing Wanda gently back down until her cheek touched his sweatpants. "It's fine, whatever. Go back to the beginning, I was thinking about something else."

"Right," Peter faked-agreed, jumping back into place when Tony pointed at his shoulder with his chin, mentioning him to go back to where he was. "Fri, from the beginning, please. Tony was having one of his old man episodes."

"Wait-what? Old man? I was once elected sexiest man alive."

"Yeah, once. We know."

"Is that sass I hear?"

"I have no idea what you mean."

"Defend me, immigrant!" Tony demanded, ruffling Wanda's hair to call her attention.

She batted his hand away, making a high-pitched noise of complaint. "Stop messing with my hair, Tony! Get off. I'm not defending you," she said, choking on a laugh. "Wait, did you just call me an immigrant?"

"Yep. Now defend me, or else we'll have to give you back to your country!"

"You sound like one of those weird protesters now."

"God, remember when people used to gather around the Compound to protest about random shit?"

Tony groaned. "Yeah, I remember. Used to be such a pain to get them to go away, too. And it was always for the most ridiculous reasons — ugh."

"I remember hearing a guy once complain that it wasn't right that the Avengers accepted girls into the team," Peter said in a disgusted tone. "I bet he couldn't do a tenth of what they can with their hands tied."

"That's why we hate men," Wanda said, shrugging.

"We do?" Tony asked, confused. "I wasn't aware. No one sent me the email."

"You're a boomer," Peter explained, laughing. "This is more of a millennial/gen z sort of thing. No one likes men anymore — it's a thing."

"You're a man, Peter." Tony felt the need to point out.

"Ugh, don't be that person," Wanda groaned. "We hate the category. The whole of men, you know? Not every single man alive, for God's sake. It's not our fault that men make it so easy for everyone else to be wary of them."

"Okay, okay. Guess we hate men now. Alright. Fri, you got that? Write it down."

"I got it, Sir," Fri agreed, and she sounded suspiciously amused by the situation.

"Good, now let's watch the movie. I was promised a young, hot Richard Gere," Peter said, getting comfortable in place again, turning back to the television.

Tony snorted. "What was that about hating men?"

"Shut up!" Wanda and Peter chimed in unison.

.

"Do you still wanna be Iron Man?"

"Do you still wanna be Spider Man?"

"Yes," Peter said. "I think so, yes. Not now. The world is fine for now and I- Well, I'm here. But I guess that I do see myself going back. With the powers I have, it would be irresponsible to not do anything."

"Peter, you did enough. More than enough already."

He shrugged. "I'm not saying now. But one day, yeah, probably."

Tony looked over at Wanda. "Do you also want to return to your fighting crime days?"

"I have to," she said. "I have many years of wrongdoing to account for, still."

"Are you drinking the same kool-aid as little spider, here? Have you not heard what I just said?"

"For now, the Avengers do not need me," she carried on, as if he had not spoken. "When they do, I'll be there."

"Great. I'm sure Steve will need someone to hold his diapers up for him," Tony said bitterly.

"Tony," Wanda reproached. "Steve—"

"Yeah, yeah. I heard it from Rhodey. Steve is great and all," Tony said, rolling his eyes. "I'm so very happy he'll have the two of you to fight beside him."

"Didn't he pass the shield to Sam?" Peter asked innocently.

Wanda nodded. "He did, yes."

"If I had known he was so eager to rid himself of it, I wouldn't have given it back," Tony grumbled, getting up from the sofa. The subject of Steve and his stupid ass decision always managed to sour Tony's mood.

It hadn't quite sunk in yet the implications of what it would mean to soon have to attend the funeral of Steve Rogers.

.

"The housing unit." Wanda pointed at it. At Tony's chest. At the subtle glowing light that wasn't completely concealed by his shirt. "Shouldn't you… take it off?"

Tony grimaced at the idea. "Do you take your powers off?"

"I cannot do that," she argued. "If I could-If that were to be an option for me, yes, I would."

"But it's not. And I'm fine with how things are — it's not like it bothers me." And it's a lie, 'cause of course it fucking bothered the hell out of him, especially at night, when the metal dug at his sensitive skin and the weight of the housing unit only served to remind him of endless nights of arguments between him and Pepper.

Some of his unease must have shown on his face, despite his best attempt at hiding it, for Wanda lifted an eyebrow in disbelief before he even managed to finish his lie. "It couldn't possibly be comfortable to wear it at all times."

"Nothing is comfortable at all times; I need my suit."

"Do you? Why?"

Why? How should he begin to explain all the ways his suits were a part of him — an essential part of who he was and what he did and that it would've been easier to part with a leg than with it at this point in his life.

"If you failed to notice, buttercup, I'm still human without it," Tony explained, tapping at his chest with two fingers. "I don't have any magic mumble-jumble going for me. Not all of us get to be so lucky and all that."

The humor of it totally bypassed Wanda. A shame, really. "It doesn't answer my question. Why here? Why now, when there's nothing to fight against?" She asked, stepping forward, coming closer, and it somehow made the question seem more pressing. More demanding.

"There's always another fight," Tony finally admitted, shrugging. "There's no quitting this life." And Christ knew Tony had tried — for months and years — to leave all this shit behind him and try his hand at a normal life.

He had tried. For him, for Pepper, for Peter, for that bitter voice in the back of his head that whispered how much his mother would be disappointed in the life he had chosen for himself.

It didn't matter, though. It never did. Being Iron Man, doing what Tony did… When push came to shove, that surpassed anything else. Everyone else. And it meant something. Something huge, really, that even Steve could pass on the shield before Tony could retire his suits.

"Has someone called today?" Wanda questioned, finally sitting next to him on the couch. Ignoring all the empty space closer to her and choosing to rest right next to Tony. Inches from him. Close enough to touch — if they wished to.

Which he didn't. Of course.

Hypothetically speaking. That was all.

"Not yet," Tony answered, even though they both knew it had been a rhetorical question.

It did serve to bring a smile to Wanda's lips. A small, satisfied smile that spoke more of genuine affection than Tony had ever been on the receiving end of, coming from her anyway.

"Then, maybe, you should let it rest for today," she suggested, raising her arm in slow motion and crossing the small distance between them to land her hand on his chest. Not on the housing unit — no. On his chest, right next to it.

As if she knew better than to touch it.

Perhaps she did.

Tony barely flinched with the contact. Almost gave no reaction to it at all, even though his mind was quickly categorizing every sensation he could feel at the touch.

Wanda's hand could do more damage than almost anyone's Tony knew — he had the psychiatrist bills to prove — and yet… The touch was light, casual. No more than a light press of fingers against his shirt, barely even a proper touch.

And nothing happened.

The seconds turned into minutes and they both remained where they were, unwilling to move from their respective positions, just soaking the moment in. Taking the chance to breathe in and breathe out, allowing time to pass them by without a sign of recognition.

Ten minutes or two hours later, that's how Peter found them.

He said nothing, but there was a smile on his face that said everything.

.

It was a horrible idea.

"Peter, get off my back!" Tony said through the coms. "I'm not a fucking surfboard."

"C'mon, this is great!" Peter yelled back in his excitement, far too happy to be reasoned with. "I'm fine."

Tony rolled his eyes, annoyed that the mask covered his face. Peter should get to see his displeasure. "Sure. For now. What will you do if I have to swerve?"

"I'm Spider Man, Tony! I'll swerve with you. I'm highly adherable!" Peter carried on yelling with a lot of unearned confidence, even as he sort of floundered in place like an idiot when Tony flew sideways to avoid a tree.

"Highly adherable, my ass," Tony mumbled under his breath. Despite the protests, though, he carried on flying way slower than he would've preferred, keeping his back as straight as possible. "Tell Karen to have the parachute ready, Fri."

"Yes, Boss."

"I do not need a parachute!"

"He definitely needs a parachute." Wanda's voice came through the coms right as they flew over the pool. Looking down, Tony saw her waving at them from a recliner, amusement clear in her features even from a distance.

"No one likes jealous people, Wanda!" Peter screamed, as if he needed to get the communication done with the force of his lungs alone.

"Oi! Easy on the mic there, buddy. I'm sure her hearing is working just fine — was, at least."

Wanda huffed. "I am not grabbing you when you fall. Do try to aim for those trees over there when you do, will you? They look very comfortable."

"You two lack confidence in my abilities; it's sad."

"You dying on my property will be sad. You have any idea the amount of paperwork that will be for me?"

"Whatever, I'm not dying." Peter's arms waved around as he struggled to keep his balance. "I'm doing gre—woah—I'm doing great."

"Sure you are," Wanda mocked. "Tony does make a terrific surfboard."

"Shut it, evil Elsa."

"Oh my God!" Peter suddenly exclaimed with far too much emphasis.

"What?" Tony demanded, eyes going back to the visors at the same time as Wanda called, "Peter! Peter, what?"

There was nothing. He seemed fine, but Tony's heart was racing and he was about to—

"Do you guys think we can make this a Guinness record or something?" He blurted, so fucking excited. "No one ever did this, right? It has to be a record! My name could be on the book and—"

"Please drop him," Wanda deadpanned, echoing the frustration Tony felt. The fucking Guinness.

"For the love of-you nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack," he said, wishing Peter could see his face now to see how very serious he was. "I should fucking drop you."

"Geez. You both need to calm down. Is this an age thing? You get progressively more boring as you-woah- get older?"

After that, only one thing could be done.

No one answered, no one said a single word, but Tony knew what Wanda was thinking. It had to be the same thing as him.

And that was why, when it came time to turn around, just as he flew over a bunch of high trees, Tony did a one-hundred-and-eighty spin in the air and gleefully watched as Peter lost his balance and dropped like a sack of potato.

From the coms, they could hear the noises as Peter hit every branch on his way down.

"That was beautiful," Wanda admired in a quiet voice.

It really was.

.

It had been silent in the garage before Peter walked in, already speaking about something, his hands gesticulating wildly as he walked.

"Hey Tony, I have been thinking about that—" The words died in his lips when he saw what was in front of him. "Are you working on the Audi?"

"About to, yes," Tony confirmed, settling the tools on the floor next to the car. "You haven't said anything to her, have you? I'm still trying to keep it a surprise."

"Sure, quiet as a mouse. She wouldn't believe me if I told her, to be honest. Not many people give other people cars for their birthdays, you know."

"What can I say? I'm not like other people." Tony shrugged, going for the floor jack. "It's a blessing and a curse, really."

"Can I help you?" Peter asked, so excited it was almost a shame to shut him down.

"Not exactly a two-man job there, buddy. Might be a bit crowded."

"Okay," he said, not sounding terribly sad about it. "I could hold it up for you, though. Watch you work? I'd like that."

Tony blinked. "Hold it— As in hold the car up from the floor?" He looked down at the floor jack. "You do know people have built shit to do that, right? A car is not exactly light on the arms, Pete."

He rolled his shoulders in a weird sort of shrug. "I'm not exactly normal, either. A car is no big deal, Tony. Let me do this."

"If you slip, I'm gonna be smashed pretty hard. Not my preferred method of death, if I do get to choose."

Peter's eyes narrowed at the insinuation. He looked mad. "I wouldn't offer if I didn't know myself enough to know I can do this. I wouldn't risk your life, Tony."

"Hey, I was kidding, buddy. Kill me, for all I care. I'm sure people would be thrilled."

"They wouldn't. Wanda would probably kill me if I did."

"Quick-fingers? She wouldn't." Tony shook his head. "No one would harm you. You're too cute."

"Right," Peter agreed, only he sounded zero convinced and more like he didn't have the patience to argue his case. Which was a shame, really. Tony had too little opportunities to showcase his arguing abilities — it was a crime against humanity. Talent like his shouldn't be kept hidden.

"Alright. You wanna do this, then?" Tony asked, wanting to be certain he had understood the offer correctly. "Fri, you're getting this? I want HD images all around. This is a moment right here — Spider Man helps playboy to fix his sports cars."

"Ha ha ha." Peter tried to roll his eyes. "C'mon, old man. Before my muscles fade from old age."

And Tony's eyes instantly went from Peter's face to his arms, where his tight shirt wrapped around his biceps in a way that displayed a bit too much. They didn't look enough to lift a car, that's for certain, but Tony knew the strength behind the looks. Yeah, he knew just what those arms could lift when it came down to it.

"Waiting for you," Tony said, mentioning the car with a hand. He should be getting to the floor, it's what he should be doing, and yet… He had to see this from a privileged position.

"Ugh, whatever," Peter complained, but smiled and slid his hand under the front bumper and lifted. He didn't even have the decency to look pained, strained. In the same way as he lifted a spoon, Peter lifted a goddamn Audi.

It shouldn't be as hot as it was.

Tony cleared his throat, getting back to the matter at hand. He had a job here, and it wasn't ogling Peter's muscles, sad as that was.

"Show off," He muttered under his breath, shifting his eyes away and dropping down to the floor.

"You said something?" Peter asked with a false innocent voice, clearly mocking Tony now. "Can't hear you over the effort it's taking me to keep this up, man. Speak up."

"I'm gonna snip your heels," Tony threatened as he slid under the car. "Don't tempt me."

"Is it wise to do that to the guy holding a ton over your head?"

"I'll take my chances."

"How careless. It's why boomers don't live as long as us."

"Shut up, gen z. No one cares."

"I'm a millennial!"

"No, you're not. You're not even close."

"See, there, right there. Rude."

"Whatever, lift it a bit more," Tony ordered, allowing the turned-up edges of his lips to turn into a full-blown smile, knowing the Audi hid his amusement from Peter, who was still going on about the differences of millennials and gen z, even as he did lift the car a few inches more.

It made it all worth it. The time travel, the fight, the stupid idea to hear what Steve had to say when he came to his house on a Saturday evening.

Christ, Peter was so worth it.

.

Tony shouldn't. It's beyond wrong, but he had already gone over all the reasons why that was a bad idea a thousand times over and he had yet to come across one that would make his twisted brain accept defeat. So, yeah, it was wrong and wrong, but he leaned forward anyway, 'cause at that point, there's truly nothing else to be done.

It's no surprise that Peter met him halfway, as always far too eager to throw himself into the deep-end without as much a blink. What was a surprise, though, was that nothing went the way Tony believed it would.

Peter didn't awkwardly jump into his arms in a bout of misplaced teenager enthusiasm, which Tony had been silently dreading, but then neither did he fumble and shy away, unsure of what to do with having what he had asked for. No. Peter kissed him, just as calmly, yet also just as surely as Tony was kissing him, easily stepping into his personal space as he did so.

As far as surreal experiences went, that was perhaps the one that left Tony feeling more wrong-footed of all — which was saying quite a bit considering the shit that Tony lived through. However, it was only the truth.

It was only the truth to say that kissing Peter made him feel both connected to the present in a way that he seldom experienced in the past years — fuck, decades — and floating adrift, lost in the huge gap between his cynic expectations and his wildest dreams.

Peter's breathing hitched, and a shiver went down Tony's spine.

That sound.

_Fuck_. That sound. How did he get Peter to make that exact sound over and over again, without stopping?

The switch flipped in his mind, and suddenly Tony's body was moving without conscious thought, moving from muscle memory alone, following the silent cues they were both giving.

Stepping closer. Wrapping a secure arm around Peter's middle. Flushing them both so tightly together it would be impossible to say where one began and the other ended.

Surrendering.

Giving in, giving up, going down the rabbit hole, and helpless to do anything other than love the entire fucking ride.

Peter's fingers grabbed a whole fistful of Tony's hair, and then he wanked. Hard. Without an ounce of mercy. Just like that, with no preamble, and goddammit Tony barely kept a whine from crossing his lips even as they kissed.

It was sinful. The way Peter's other hand ran all over Tony's body, unable to decide where it wanted to land. The way Peter bit Tony's bottom lip ever so often, sinking his teeth in the soft flesh as if he was digging for blood. The way Peter's hips began to move, his erection pressing insistently against Tony's leg, demanding attention.

All of it. It was all far too good, far too close from a few of Tony's dreams, far too impossible to resist.

There was no coming back from this.

Just… no way.

So Tony was perfectly aware of what he was doing when he pushed Peter back until he hit the wall, and he was also perfectly aware when his own hips began to move tandem with Peter's, brushing their dicks together in search of some much-needed relief.

And, yeah, later? He was perfectly aware when he took every inch of Peter's clothing from his body and fucked him against that very wall until they both couldn't stand straight.

Fucking aware.

.

Tony figured a car was probably a safe bet. Who wouldn't enjoy a brand new, enhanced car for their birthday?

He ignored the quiet voice in the back of his mind that reminded him of all his failures when it came to important dates and giving presents in the past, and how badly they damaged his relationship with Pepper. It was in the past; there was nothing to be done about it.

And he had gotten better. Grown-up, Pepper had once said before she left. So, yeah, he ignored the whispers of doubt, hoping it wouldn't be another one of his massive fuck ups.

The Audi was a deep burgundy color, all sleek lines and sex appeal. One to impress, in his opinion. The not-so-small changes he had made to the original design didn't hurt either.

One could never have enough Stark Tech in their machines, that's Tony mentality, and he went with it. She would notice the more obvious ones — the security measures he sneaked in, well, those he hoped would go unnoticed until the day she needed them.

It was ready.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. insisted that he had to tie the thing with a massive black ribbon for some goddamn reason, and Tony was past the point of pretending he didn't want to impress, so all over the Lamb went silk black strips of fabric — a gigantic bow on the hood.

Tony cleaned his hands on his dirty jeans. "Think we nailed this one, Fri."

"Miss. Maximoff is waking up, boss."

Hours later, after they had finished fucking on the hood of the car and done some irreparable damage to his workshop, Wanda smiled and stole the keys from the pockets of his pants.

As it turns out, she did like to receive cars as birthday presents.

.

Peter was wrapped up in his work, clearly distracted and unaware of the world around him.

Tony couldn't help himself, despite his better reasonings. His hands came to halt and his own work was left forgotten as his attention shifted to the other occupant of the room. Just like that, without his express permission, Peter stole Tony's attention from work — and without a single word, too.

Just how many times had Pepper tried to do that? How many times had they fought because she failed at it? How many times had Tony lost himself in the equations floating around him, in the math, in the projects, in the new idea, in that one improvement on his suit that would give him the upper hand against some invisible enemy?

Hundreds of scenarios ran across Tony's mind, each cringier than the previous, and it was almost impossible not to sigh as he remembered every special occasion he lost. Every birthday, and opening, and anniversaries, and graduations, and celebrations, and Christmas and Easters and so many others.

Tony smiled grimly at that, self-deprecating and knowing, swimming in his own sea of regrets about anything and everything.

It was ridiculous to regret the past, although Tony did little else but that in the past five years.

Still. There was Peter, involved in his work in that same, familiar way that Tony knew too well — only so different. So different, indeed, it could hardly be called familiar. In fact, Tony knew nothing of that kind of commitment. He was only now understanding its existence, its possibility.

A healthy relationship with work, Pepper used to call it. Personal boundaries. Strict priorities. On and off times.

A private life that revolved around relationships with people, and not machines.

Tony watched Peter move his hands, and type lines upon lines of equations, and the words made so much sense all of a sudden. He knew that were he to call Peter's name and tell him that he needed his attention elsewhere, Peter wouldn't think twice. He wouldn't dream of ignoring Tony or telling him that whatever he was working on was more important than whatever he needed.

Peter was a good person. An amazing person, even.

His priorities were always settled on helping people.

So very unlike Tony's.

So much better, though.

Tony blinked and exhaled, doing his best to calm the emotions running through his body and slow down his sudden strong heartbeat. The symptoms were close enough to a panic attack that it scared him, even though this wasn't it — at all.

It seemed like the closest thing to love that Tony had felt in years. That's what it felt.

.

Throughout the years, Tony's bed had never been empty. Tony lost many nights of sleep over his work and his projects and his desperation of proving himself. He had lost too many nights at his bed, nights of sleep that was. In other ways though, his bed had never been empty. Or maybe it was more true to say Tony never went to an empty bed, be that of his or others.

Tony had company.

He was known for having all kinds of company. Had built a reputation of never riding solo, of being surrounded by available people, of never having to wish for more.

His bed, wherever that was at the time, had never felt empty. Tony wouldn't allow that.

For too many years, the answers to his problems were always at the end of some bottle or in between the legs of many someones.

His appetite was insane and his hunger never felt satisfied. So his bed remained occupied. By two, three, four, twelve, twenty random people most days of the week.

But that had been before.

Before Iron Man, and the Avengers, and his many near-death experiences and, most importantly, before Pepper.

Being in a monogamous relationship for the first time in his life had meant a whole book on new experiences, yes, but also that his bed now belonged to him and another person. Pepper got the left side of it, and Christ, it took Tony years to get used to it. To cuddling, to holding, to sharing, to going to sleep and waking up always to the same person by his side.

Tony had gotten used to sleeping with someone else, and after she left, he got used to not sleeping at that bed at all. The house was big, he had plenty of places to crash when he needed it.

Now, though, somehow, inexplicably, Tony's bed was once again occupied by someone. Someones, actually.

In a weird mix of the many moments of his life, Tony found himself pressed in the middle of two hot bodies, with absolutely no space to either move or leave.

Not because he had been part of an orgy, or because he was in a monogamous relationship. Once more, the situation was brand new.

Peter was at his right side, wrapped in his arm like a goddamn koala, legs thrown over Tony's middle and face nestled in his shoulder. On his other side, Wanda slept turned away from him, but still close enough to keep him trapped there. Her long hair rested so closely to Tony's nose that he could smell her shampoo and her shampoo only when he breathed in.

He looked up at the ceiling, wondering what he should do and whether that situation was enough to secure his VIP place in hell.

"Good morning, Boss," Fri spoke in the softest of voices. "It's 7:48 A.M. Thursday, the eleventh."

It must've not been quiet enough, because Wanda groaned as soon as Fri announced the time.

"So early," she mumbled, voice deep with sleep. "Sleepy time, Tony. Shush."

And so, Tony did the only thing that seemed reasonable at those circumstances — he closed his eyes and went the fuck back to sleep.

.

To Tony, Steve had always been selfish.

At the end, where it mattered, Steve had never been able to compromise, to give up on the things he wanted and believed to be right. Not many would use that word to refer to Captain America, but then Tony had always known Steve better than most – too much, really.

Going to the past, putting the stones back where they belonged, that was the mission, his job. Staying in the past, messing up shit, getting the girl of his dreams, marrying her, well, that was another matter altogether. It was a big no-no. A huge mess up in the timelines — something forbidden. And Steve?

Steve did exactly that. Unrepentant – warning no one.

Like Tony said: selfish.

The weird thing was, Tony couldn't even muster the strength to care, to give a fuck, to think of the possibilities from now on and what it meant that Captain America was no more. He just… could not be bothered to pretend to lose any proverbial sleep over it.

Maybe because the years had made him soft. Maybe because he was losing it. Maybe because Steve was no longer the hero of his dreams. Maybe because too much had happened already. Maybe because he was tired of being angry, frustrated, confused. Maybe because there's nothing he could do about the mess, this time.

However, if he were to be honest, Tony knew it was none of that. Well, maybe it was a tiny bit of all that, but mostly it was the two people currently cuddling on his couch, sipping warm beverages and almost entirely hidden by the pile of comforters they had thrown over their laps.

It was Peter and Wanda, who were watching some random french movie they probably had already seen before, grinning and repeating some lines to each other, happy and relaxed, taking over the entirety of Tony's house with their presence alone.

It was those two — Christ, those two.

Them, and no one else.

Looking at them, observing their happiness and the gentle way in which they touched each other, and waiting for them to notice him, and smiling as Peter did, his whole face brightening even more — if such a thing was possible — Tony knew why it didn't bother him.

Steve's selfishness didn't anger Tony anymore because he understood.

Because Tony couldn't help but smile back at Peter, crossing the room to join them, sitting next to Wanda, who was cocooned in Peter's arms, and stealing the hot mug straight from her hands. And she let him. She let him steal her drink, not saying one single word, only raising her legs in an unmistakable offer, which had Tony folding once more, just as quickly.

Wanda. Peter. Wanda and Peter. Peter and Wanda.

They looked almost too much like a photograph, a picture, a painting, something perfect that had been captured at just the right time, immortalizing a scene that should be immortalized, that should be admired and gazed upon.

Young, gorgeous, smart, powerful, dangerous. Both unlike Tony in many ways, and far too similar in others.

They were something Tony should know better than to covet, to want, to reach out and take, to hold and taint with his personal brand of craziness. And yet…

Yet, there he was, scooching closer, letting Wanda's legs fall over his lap, letting his hands rest over her naked skin under the blankets. Touching. Reaching. Needing. Tony was doing everything he shouldn't, and damn, he couldn't help but enjoy, and crave, and soak in each moment like a thirsty man lost in the desert.

So, yeah, Steve was selfish. Fucking selfish — a whole lot of selfishness in the body of a super-hero, a super-soldier, a super-man.

It was okay, though.

It was all right.

Tony got it.

He, too, saw what he wanted, what made him happy, what he considered to be essential to his life, to his very fucking soul, goddammit, and he went for it. Screw everyone else. In the end, they all protected what they considered to be theirs' first.

So no, he wasn't angry.

He understood.

Tony was selfish, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Andddddd, that’s a wrap. This story has been such a wild ride! Anyways, I hope that the ones who stuck to the end of this fic have enjoyed it, despite the very (weird/unusual/new?) pairing. 
> 
> If you feel like it, please leave a comment with your thoughts about it down below! I’m a sucker for reviews, and I always read each one with a huge, dumb smile on my face. 
> 
> Please stay inside and safe. We’ll get through this. 
> 
> I love you all. Xoxo.


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